


Long Nights

by orphan_account



Series: Civil Law [4]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:04:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 40,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6364228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Civil Law". When Matt and Steve are reunited, they try to salvage what's left of their relationship as they work together to take down Wilson Fisk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Matt woke up on something soft. A bed. Long. Narrow. There was an IV in his arm. _Hospital?_ He listened closely for any telltale sounds, but a dull ringing in his ears made it tricky to pick up on anything. He tried to sit up on his elbows, wincing at the pain of it, and was eased back down by one big, warm hand splayed out on his chest.

“Don't try to sit up.” Steve said softly. “You want some water?”

“ _Steve_?”

“Yeah, Matt. I’m here.”

“What're you... Are we in New York?”

“Estonia.”

“Oh, God, _why_?”

“Closest S.H.I.E.L.D. base - ex-S.H.I.E.L.D., rather.”

“What? Why... Why S.H.I.E.L.D.?” He tried to sit up again, getting a little farther this time, but the action brought on a sudden wave of deep, full body pain. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he groaned, surrendering again to the mattress. It felt as though he’d been hit by a train. “What happened?”

“There's morphine.”

“All of it. All the morphine.”

Steve gently patted Matt’s hand before getting up to rummage through a cabinet. The ringing in Matt’s ears seemed to be steadily subsiding, but then came back full force, and then subsided again. _Fire? Explosion?_

“What happened?” he asked again.

Steve came back to his side and Matt could faintly hear him taking up an IV tube in one hand. “Fury’s had people tailing you since you took off. They’re the ones who pulled you out of the rubble and airlifted you to the base.”

Matt huffed, incredulous. Anger began to bubble up in him. “Did you know about this?”

“If I had, I would’ve shut it down right away.”

Steve’s answer was sharp and clipped, and Matt was immediately sorry for how accusatory the question was.

Since he left New York after Bucky’s trial, he’d been traveling under pseudonyms and had taken pains not to leave any trails, paper or otherwise; still, he wasn’t naive enough to doubt that if Steve had really put his mind to the task, and his resources, he could certainly have pinpointed any of Matt’s locations - the fact that he _didn’t_ had spoken volumes about how much he trusted Matt to take care of himself, and communicated, above all, his respecting Matt’s wishes. This was all Matt had ever asked of him regarding their superhero work, and it had baffled him how, even with all that distance between them, Steve was still the kindest, most caring man in the world.

After the way he’d left Steve - abruptly, in the middle of the night - he couldn’t help but wonder if the reason why Steve hadn’t tried to contact him was because he wanted nothing to do with Matt. He’d come close several times to picking up a payphone and dialing his boyfriend’s number, on one occasion actually calling him and letting Steve pick up the phone, only to hang up on him immediately. They’d been separated for _months_ now. He hadn’t intended to stay away for so long, but he still wasn’t any closer to catching Fisk, having now followed him from Minneapolis all the way to _Frankfurt_ , from Frankfurt to London, and from London to Oslo, where he was currently hunkering down - or _was_ , he mused through the early effects of the morphine. Apparently he was in _Estonia_ now. And _Steve_ was with him.

He reached out for him, searching around for Steve’s hand and then tugging him closer. “Get up here,” he said. Steve obediently perched on the edge of the mattress.

“4 months,” Matt said, bringing Steve’s hand to his lips.

“Y-up.”

“Tell me you missed me?”

“You know I missed you.”

“I wanna hear the words.”

“I just said it.”

“Say it again.”

“Awfully bossy, aren’t we?”

“You like it when I’m bossy.”

“Sometimes.”

“M’sorry I left.”

Steve hesitated. “You had your reasons.”

“I should’ve said something. Are you mad at me?”

“How’s the morphine? You feel any better?”

Matt felt _much_ better. The pain in all his limbs was steadily becoming a dull, distant ache. He opened his mouth to say as much, but couldn’t quite get his lips and his tongue to move the way he wanted them to.

Steve traced his thumb along Matt’s brow bone. “Close your eyes, baby. Go back to sleep.”

“No, I wanna... I wanna keep talking to you,” he slurred.

“I'll be here when you wake up.”

Matt let out a slow sigh and closed his eyes, making a soft little sound when Steve delicately touched his fingertips to Matt’s eyelids.

“Go to sleep,” Steve said again.

He did. And when he woke up nearly 14 hours later, the morphine had worn off and Steve was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Matt could take a hit. He'd walked off 20-foot falls and hard blows to the face.  He'd walked off a fight with _Steve_ , before Steve had known about his double life. An explosion - or something like it; Steve mentioned rubble - was only moderately worse.

When he woke up again, alone and too warm, the ringing in his ears was gone and the pain was much more manageable. He wondered if he hadn’t imagined Steve being there; it was very possible - he still wasn’t sure what exactly had happened to him.

He took quick inventory of the damage: bruises, a few broken ribs, sprained ankle, mostly scrapes and cuts. Nothing too serious.

He tried to remember the events leading up to this, but the most immediate stuff was all in bits and pieces. He remembered leaving Steve’s apartment and getting to La Guardia, the turbulence, stepping out into the frigid Minnesotan weather. He remembered turning his phone on again by the Shuttle pickup. He’d had 2 new voicemails- one from Foggy, one from Steve. He’d let his phone fall to the concrete and crushed it under his foot.

The hotel had smelled like mold. He went out that night looking for any clues. No luck. No leads until almost a month later - Fisk was in Frankfurt, Germany.

Matt didn’t speak a lick of German. He didn’t have a place to stay until his third night in the city - he slept in alleyways, on top of his suitcase. He stopped 23 burglaries and took down a prostitution ring before there was any news of Fisk. And then off to London. And then he called Foggy, apologized and assured him that he was safe, asked him to overnight the Daredevil suit. He dialed Steve’s number and hung up. Did it again, let it ring. Hung up again when he heard Steve’s voice.

He was weary from long nights and hard work, he was running dangerously low on money, and he had no idea when - if _ever_ \- he would see his boyfriend again. On top of it all, London was cold and rainy and unwelcoming. But he seemed to be getting closer. There were definite traces of Fisk having been there.

He followed those traces all the way to Oslo. The same woman kept reappearing. He remembered following her into a warehouse one night, and then he was waking up next to Steve.

 _Steve_ , he thought with a start, _Steve is here_. The idea of putting himself in Steve’s arms and staying there forever had never been more appealing. 4 months was too long.

He groaned as he climbed out of the bed, moving slowly in case there was another injury he wasn’t aware of. There was a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt on a nearby chair. He carefully changed out of the thin robe, and then opened the door and stepped outside.

Long hallway. Hard, steel walls. Underground. He paused at the end of the hall and listened for one heartbeat in particular.

“We think he might be working with Hydra,” someone was saying nearby. A very familiar, very particular voice.

 _Nick Fury?_ Matt wondered what could’ve brought him all the way to Estonia. Fury only came in when the shit was dangerously close to hitting the fan.

“That's impossible,” Steve said firmly. “We took down Hydra when we dismantled S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Well, we’ve got intel that says otherwise,” Fury replied. They were only a few rooms down from Matt. He followed their voices.

“Does Bucky know?” Steve said.

“I’ll notify Barnes myself. We want him down here by the end of the week-”

“Don’t. He’s been through enough. The last thing he’ll want to hear is that Hydra’s still... Matt.”

“Hey,” Matt said weakly, limping over the threshold.

“Mr. Murdock,” Fury said.

“You had me followed?” Matt demanded.

“You forget that we were on this case long before you caught wind of it.”

“Wilson Fisk is my business.”

“And you can’t take him on alone, so either you accept our help or get out of the way before you get yourself killed. Came pretty damn close to it already.”

“Just _consider_ the offer,” Steve said. “You don’t have to give us an answer right away.”

“Talk to your friend, Captain Rogers,” Fury said, heading for the door. “Please let him know that if he’s not willing to play nice, we will keep him restrained here.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Matt said darkly, and then, when he was alone with Steve, “You were gone when I woke up.”

“Why are you fighting us on this?”

“Because this isn’t your problem and I don’t need your help.”

“Fisk made it my problem when he started working with Hydra. And whether or not you wanna hear it, Fury’s right: you can’t take him down alone. Maybe a few months ago, but not anymore.”

Matt worried at his bottom lip. “I know.”

“We’re not trying to push you out, Matt. We want to _help_ , and we can’t get him without you. You know Fisk better than anyone.”

Matt opened his mouth around a response, but let out a huge, involuntary yawn instead.

“Tired?” Steve said with a sigh.

“I don’t know why. I must’ve slept all day.”

“You should take it easy for a while. I’ll show you to your room.”

Steve led the way back out into the hall, going at an easy enough pace for Matt to keep up with him. They walked in silence down the full length of the hallway, and then Steve swiped a card and a set of double doors slid open before them.

“Bucky’s been out for a while, yeah?” Matt said, trying to make any sort of conversation. It was strange and unpleasant, Steve being so cold to him. 

“He’s back in New York.”

“Glad to hear it. It’s terrible, what they put him through.”

They turned a corner and came to a set of stairs. He followed Steve down several flights.

“So, Hydra, huh?” he said.

“Looks that way.” Steve’s voice was low and tight. There was tension in his back and shoulders. Matt almost stopped himself from reaching out to touch him, not sure if the contact would be welcomed.

Steve flinched when Matt put his hand on his arm, and Matt could sense him trying to cover. Still, he slid his arm into Steve’s and wrapped his fingers around Steve’s bicep, coming to walk beside him.

“I'm sorry,” Matt said. “I know you thought you'd taken care of Hydra.”

“Apparently not.”

“We'll get them this time.”

“‘We?’ So you've decided to pull your head out of your ass?”

“Ouch.”

“I'm kidding,” Steve said, but there wasn't a lick of humor in his voice.

Matt loosened his hold on Steve’s upper arm, and then released him altogether.

They came to a small landing area and Steve held open a door for him. “Turn left,” he directed. “Fourth door on the right.”

“This is it?” Matt said, following Steve’s instructions. The door was wide open and he stepped inside.

It wasn’t anything fancy: a full sized bed, a dresser, and a desk. He’d slept in worse places.

“I'm across the hall if you need anything,” Steve said.

“We’re in separate rooms?”

“Figured you'd want your space.”

“I'd rather have _your_ space,” Matt said cheesily, taking both of Steve’s hands in his and trying to pull him close. When he didn’t budge, Matt closed the distance between them himself. Steve was still so full of tension, radiating negative vibes. Physical contact was one tried and true way of getting him to unwind a bit and actually open up to Matt instead of icing him out. But it didn't seem to be working this time.

“We need to talk,” Steve said, stiff and unyielding.

“I know, but...can’t it wait?” He wrapped his arms around Steve's neck. "I really missed you." Steve didn't kiss him back when Matt touched his lips to Steve’s. That quiet rejection made Matt’s blood run cold. 

“You should have told me you were going after Fisk," Steve said.

He moved away from Steve and sat down on the bed. “I didn’t... want to make it a big... _thing_. You were already really upset.”

“Yes, exactly - I was really upset, and sad and scared, and I needed you and you _left._  I woke up and you were _gone_.”

“Well... There’s no _talking_ to you sometimes. I mean, you had it in your head back then that I couldn't take care of myself-”

“That's not true.”

“And you weren't even gonna tell me that Fisk had escaped-”

“Because I wasn't _allowed_ to, Matt. What does any of this have to do with the issue at hand?”

“It has _everything_ to do with it.”

“You’re talking about something else. I’m talking about the night you decided to leave the country and didn’t even stop to consider how I might be affected. Bucky had just been shipped to _Russia._  I _needed_ you, Matt.”

Matt threw his hands in the air. “Of _course_ it all comes back to Bucky,” he snapped, hating how childish he felt but unable to stop himself. “Why did I even think for a _second-_ ”

“This is different.”

“How is it different? You’re saying you lost your mind over Bucky - _again_ \- and I wasn’t there to indulge in you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is that I’ve spent the last two years hoping my goddamn boyfriend loved me enough not to leave me for his not-dead ex-lover - and then feeling like an asshole for it. It’s been all about _you_ , Steve.” Matt tried to rein in his rapidly rising temper. “Leaving was something I needed to do for me,” he gritted out. “For _once_ , I did something for _me_. And maybe the fact that I couldn't even _talk_ to you about it is a huge fucking sign.”

“You didn't even _try_ to talk to me, Matt. You left in the middle of the night with no way to contact you, no way for me to know where you were or why-”

“Because you were _upset_. I didn't wanna drag you into a debate.”

“You could have _waited_ \- we're talking in circles.”

“You're right, Steve - is that what you want me to say? You're right. I'm so sorry. I should've left you a fucking note.”

“Yes, you should have. If you don't want to be with me, you could've at least let me know.”

“Are you serious?” Matt deadpanned. “Now you’re saying I don't wanna be with you? After everything I've done for you?”

Steve started to speak and then stopped himself, pausing a moment. “You know what? It's late. We've both had a long day. We're both heated. Why don't we table this discussion, get some sleep, and come back to it in the morning when we're not at each other's throats?”

“You think I don't wanna be with you?”

“Matt,” Steve sighed.

“I could've walked away _years_ ago - and you know what, I probably should have. Do you even know how much of myself I've given up for you? What it's _cost_ me to make this work?”

“Then why are you still here, Matt? Honestly? If it's such a chore for you, if it’s so difficult, then why are we even trying?”

“Because I'm in love with you, Steve!”

“And I'm in love with you, but that doesn't mean we have to keep doing this, or that we should. Not if it’s making you so unhappy. You're right. The past few years haven't been great. We've had our good times, but they are _far_ outweighed by the bad.”

“Are you saying you want to break up?” Matt demanded, his voice cracking a bit.

“Maybe we should just... take a break.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It just means... a break. Some time apart.”

Matt huffed. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing for the past 4 months?”

“I'm _trying_ here, Matt. I’m really trying to make us _work._ But, sweetheart... you've gotta meet me halfway.”

“A break.”

“Just for a while. A month, maybe. And then we'll... reevaluate.”


	3. Chapter 3

Steve dreamt that he went to Matt’s room and apologized. And then Matt put his arms around Steve, accepted Steve’s apology, apologized to him. And then they weren’t in Estonia, but in Matt’s apartment -  _ their  _ apartment - and the sun was bright, glowing on Matt’s skin, and they were tangled together in bed, making love in the afternoon. He could still feel the ghost of Matt’s skin on his lips when he woke up alone.

His room was the twin of Matt’s: a single bed, single dresser that Steve had filled with his clothes, single desk with a single stack of manilla folders, one of them open on a surveillance picture of someone who looked like Wilson Fisk.

He stared up at the ceiling and sighed. It was ridiculous to feel so afraid and unhappy with Matt across the hall from him - as opposed to being across the  _ world _ . Matt was close and safe, Steve told himself, and that’s what really mattered. It didn’t stop him from wanting him, though. 4 months was too long - 4  _ weeks  _ was too long. He hadn’t slept once through the night since Matt had left him. As innately touchy and physical a person as Steve was - as they  _ both  _ were - 4 months without any sort of intimate contact was only made worse now by Matt’s being so close to him, and somehow even farther away than he was before.

Matt had kissed him earlier. He’d laced his fingers through Steve’s and his mouth had been soft and warm, his kiss sweet and slow - as though he’d wanted to savor the moment, 4 months of anticipation packed into a single gesture.

And Steve had really wanted to wrap his arms around him and kiss him back, let himself fall into the reunion with abandon - it had hurt him to stand still. But Matt had hurt him even more. 

Matt’s leaving so suddenly to go after Fisk had been a terrifying awakening: Steve realized how much of himself he’d given over to Matt - how deep all the roots of his love went, deeper even than when he was in love with Bucky - and how easily Matt could break his heart. These were the things he’d really wanted to say, but couldn’t quite articulate: It scares me how much I love you; Your absence cut me to the soul; You hurt me and I don’t know how to forgive you.

It was too early to get out of bed, but Steve didn’t think he’d be able to go back to sleep. Not with that vivid, vivid dream so fresh in his head, making him feel things and want things. He was awake and aroused, semi-entertaining the idea of simply crossing the hallway and sating his desire in Matt’s arms. Fight or no fight, break or no break, he knew he wouldn’t be unwelcome, and he wanted Matt desperately. 

“Matthew Murdock...” he whispered, rubbing his hands over his face. “You are the love of my life.”

His entire body thrummed with intense desire. He could see himself getting out of bed and crossing the hall - simply  _ crossing the hall _ \- and opening Matt’s door. Matt would be soft and warm and loose-limbed and sleepy. He’d kiss Steve like nothing had happened. He’d spread his legs wide and wrap his arms around Steve like no time had passed.

Steve put one hand in his sweatpants and let his imagination run wild. Despite the argument, despite the heartbreak, all Steve wanted was to run his hands over the hot, soft skin of Matt’s beautiful body. He loved Matt’s body; the strength and grace of it, the dancer-like flexibility, the long, powerful legs, the scars, the calluses of his hands and feet.

He worked his hand up and down and pictured Matt on top of him, doing this to him. He closed his eyes and tried to drag back what he remembered of his dream: Matt’s smile, the arch of his broad back, his hands clutching at Steve’s biceps, the satiny skin of his inner thighs.

It would have to be enough. At least for another few weeks - after that, Steve wasn’t certain of anything.

***

Matt had lain in bed for several hours after talking to Steve, and then fell into a thin, uneasy sleep. Somewhere in there, in one of those hazy moments between conscious and unconscious, he thought he’d heard Steve whisper his name.

He couldn’t believe his circumstances. Every time he woke up, he’d remember them all over again and such a knocking would start up in his heart that he had to forcefully slow his breathing to calm himself, and then he would dip again into sleep.

Sleeping alone was somehow made even worse by Steve being just across the hall from him, just out of reach. His arms and his heart were aching for the other man. At one point in the night, he’d sat upright in bed, heart pounding, palms shaking and sweating, and nearly got to his feet and went to Steve.

That brief kiss they had half-shared - it wasn’t the reunion Matt had hoped for. Steve hadn't kissed him back, hadn't put his hands on Matt, but instead stood very tense and still. Matt couldn't say for sure what he'd expected - some small sign of any lasting affection, maybe; at least one little kiss in return.

Matt groaned aloud and put one of the pillows over his face. He stayed this way all through what was left of the night, going over their fight in his head, picking it apart.

Steve loved him still - Matt’s greatest fear was unrealized - and he wanted to work on things. There had to be better way of doing so than simply  _ taking a break _ from one another, but Matt couldn't come up with anything.

When morning finally came around, he was exhausted and unhappy.


	4. Chapter 4

Matt could hear Steve getting up and out of bed around 6AM. He could hear him stretch and sigh and strip out of his sleepwear, changing, by the sound of it, into workout clothes before opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. There was the sound of him hesitating in front of Matt’s room, and then swiping his card to open the double doors at the end of the hallway.

Despite their deal, despite the fact that he couldn’t hold Steve in his arms or kiss him, some small part of Matt was satisfied just having Steve close again. Together like this, he could easily seek out and latch onto Steve’s breathing, latch onto that beloved heartbeat - so quick and strong and unnatural and so definitively _Steve’s_.

He pulled the bed covers up over his head and tried again to go to sleep. There was no use in it. He could hear Steve several floors underneath him. The proximity was too exciting.

He thought suddenly of Foggy, and of how he hadn’t kept his promise to stay in touch since they’d talked on the phone in London. He’d left Foggy a voicemail before he left for Norway, but that was the last time he’d tried to reach out to him. The deeper in he got, the longer and the closer he followed Fisk’s trail, the more dangerous it became to contact anybody.

There was no danger now - save the trouble Matt would definitely be in. He got out of bed and went to the desk, picking up the telephone there and dialing the number he knew by heart.

“Nelson.” came the scratchy, sleepy voice after several rings.

“Hey, Foggy. It’s me.”

There was a long silence, and Matt started to speak again when Foggy gritted out, “You fucking asshole.”

“Foggy-”

“I thought you were _dead_ , Matt. You said you’d keep me updated.”

“I know, but-”

“And then I have to hear about your shit from Nick Fury? A fucking _explosion_? And what the hell were you doing in _Oslo_?”

“I know, Foggy, I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner. But I’m _okay_ , I promise.”

“You’ve been a really shitty friend to me, man.”

Matt couldn’t find the words to retaliate, settling instead, with a full-body sigh, on, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Foggy was quiet again. Matt walked with the cordless phone back to bed and crawled under the covers, laying on his back with the phone pressed to his ear.

“So, what...” Foggy finally said. “You’re in... Estonia?”

“Yeah, old underground S.H.I.E.L.D. base. Steve’s here.”

“I figured.”

“And...” Matt huffed a bitter laugh. “We just broke up.”

“ _What_? Why?”

“Or - not ‘broke up,’ I guess. We’re _taking a break_.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“That’s what I said.” He sighed and put his free hand over his face. “I dunno, we’ve decided not to see each other for a month. And then we’re gonna come back and... reevaluate.”

“‘Reevaluate?’”

“Steve’s word.”

“O-kay... Why?”

“He’s pissed that I left without telling him, and I’m tired of coming in second place.”

“Second place to what?”

“We both know it’s more of a _who_.”

“ _Bucky_ ? Are you serious? Matt, they’ve _been_ over and done with.”

“Honestly, Foggy, I really don’t wanna talk about it right now.”

“You brought it up.”

“Because I didn’t want it to come up later, out of the blue.”

“Okay. Then we won’t talk about it.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll just sit here and listen to you mope.”

“I’m not _moping_.”

“Seriously, Matt, it’s time to pull your head out of your ass. Steve is crazy in love with you. You’re the only one he wants to be with. How many times are we all gonna have to say it?”

“Can you lecture me later, please? I just got blown up and dumped - in the same week.”

“All I’m sayin’ is... if you don’t be careful, you’re gonna lose that man. And I know that’s not what you want - either of you.” It sounded like Foggy had suddenly clamped his hand over the receiver. There were the faint traces of a deeper, more masculine voice. A moment later, Foggy said, “I’ve gotta go, but I’m gonna call you in a few hours, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Talk to Steve. Work it out.”

“Bye, Foggy.”

He hung up and tossed the phone to one side of the bed, snuggling again under the covers. If he didn’t try to get even an hour of sleep, he’d be grouchy and exhausted in addition to being sad and sore.

***

“How’s he doing?” Bucky asked softly, gathering Foggy’s hair to one side and mouthing the back of his neck.

“Mm... He’s _alive_."

"Told you."

"Yeah, yeah, you're always right," Foggy said sarcastically. "He’s being an idiot - him and Steve both.”

“That sounds like Steve.”

“Yeah, they’re perfect for each other.”

Bucky chuckled. “Well, I’m glad he’s safe.” He wrapped his metal arm around Foggy’s middle and pressed himself up against him, nosing into the side of Foggy’s neck. Foggy leaned a bit over the kitchen counter, letting his backside press invitingly into Bucky’s crotch.

"I can whip something up before I leave," Foggy said. "You hungry?”

“Not for anything to eat.”

Foggy turned around to face him and had to sigh at the sight. He’d never tire of it, never grow accustomed to it: Bucky was ridiculously, impossibly beautiful, from the bed head to all the creases of his face, the light dusting of freckles, the small scar in his brow, the sharp hazel eyes, the shapely mouth.

He’d left work sometime in the late afternoon and gone straight to Bucky’s, too tired to do anything besides strip out of his suit and fall into bed. Since Matt had taken off, it had been up to Foggy to handle every new case. Long, abnormal hours had become his and Karen’s M.O. and it wasn’t unusual for him to show up at Bucky’s or Natasha’s at any hour of the day just to sleep and be close to them, recharging for a while before diving back into boxes of paperwork.

“I’ve gotta get back to the office,” Foggy said regretfully, brushing his fingers over Bucky’s stubble, fingering the handsome cleft in his chin. If he wasn’t stricter with himself, he could easily stay in Bucky’s apartment all night, wrapped in Bucky’s arms. And then Natasha would come over, and bring all of her warmth with her, and Foggy would never leave. “Are we still on for dinner tomorrow? Nat wouldn’t tell me where we’re going.”

Bucky shrugged. “That’s kinda how surprises work.”

“You two are the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah... But you wouldn’t have us any other way.”

Bucky leant in to kiss him. He put his hands on Foggy’s waist, smiled against his lips. He kissed Foggy unhurriedly, happily, as though this single sweet action was something to be enjoyed in and of itself - not just a lead in to deeper, more carnal pleasures.

“I’ve gotta go,” Foggy protested halfheartedly, more to himself than to Bucky.

“I’ll see you in a few.” He let Foggy go, dropping one last, tender kiss to the curve of his shoulder before heading over to the refrigerator. “Go save the world, Foggy Nelson.”

“I’ll do my best.”


	5. Chapter 5

_“Whoa, hey, man.” Foggy took Matt by the arm to keep his friend from toppling into traffic, tugging him gently back to the far edge of the sidewalk. “You all right to go home?”_

_“What? M’fine,” Matt slurred. He gave Foggy a lopsided smile and, in trying to adjust them, knocked his glasses off. Foggy bent down to pick them up. “Thanks. M’good. M’going to Steve’s.”_

_“Does Steve know about that?”_

_“It’s a surprise!”_

_“You might wanna call ahead. He could be asleep.”_

_“He'll wake up for me,” Matt said smugly._

_“At least give him a head’s up before dumping your drunk ass on his doorstep.”_

_“Mean.” Matt stuck out his tongue. He took his phone out of his pocket, but couldn't quite get a hold on it._

_“Give it here,” Foggy said. “Before you accidentally call that guy from the party that one night.”_

_“I don't have his number still!”_

_“I'll bet he has yours. Here.” He handed Matt back the phone. “It's ringing.”_

_“Hey,” Steve said, answering on the second ring. “It’s late. You okay?”_

_“I’m coming over,” Matt slurred loudly and without preamble._

_“Sorry, wrong number.”_

_“Steeeve!”_

_“Should I put on a pot of coffee?” Steve asked, a smile in his voice._

_“Don't need any coffee. Need your... tight lil ass.”_

_“All right, Matt.”_

_“I'm coming over,” he repeated._

_“See you soon.”_

_Foggy hailed a cab for him and put Matt in the backseat, giving the driver Steve’s address before patting the hood of the car and saying to Matt, “Call me in the morning.”_

_It wasn’t too long of a drive, and Matt knew Steve was waiting for him on the curb several blocks before the cab pulled up. He put his hands on the window, following with his head the sound of Steve’s feet on the pavement - walking around the front of the car to pay the driver before opening the back door._

_“Evening, Captain,” Matt said, smiling wide as he took Steve’s outstretched hand._

_“Too much of a good thing, huh?”_

_“Maybe.” Matt stumbled out onto the street and into his boyfriend’s chest._

_“Let’s get you upstairs,” Steve said, fondness in his voice. He put his hand on Matt’s lower back and started to lead him to the front door of the apartment building._

_“Why, Captain Rogers!” Matt said with a mock gasp. “What kind of a girl do you take me for?”_

_“A really tall one.”_

_Inside, he followed Steve up way too many stairs and they came to his door. As Steve got out his keys, Matt wrapped his arms around him from behind and rubbed his face against the stiff fabric of Steve’s shirt, warmed down to his toes by the heat of Steve’s body._

_“Glad to know you’re a friendly drunk,” Steve said._

_“Nah. Just a dirty old man.”_

_When Steve got the door unlocked and led Matt inside, Matt gave him enough time to get the door closed again before taking him by the collar and kissing him open and wet._

_Steve made a startled little noise, and then his lips moved into a smile. He wrapped his hands around Matt’s wrists - not to pull him away; instead to smooth his thumbs over the pulse points there, to let his fingers splay down and out over Matt’s forearms. Matt’s kiss was so completely uncoordinated, so unlike his usual attention to detail, that Steve had to chuckle at the sloppiness. He made another little sound when Matt’s fingers plucked at the buttons on his shirt - those isolated digits, separate from the man’s mouth, filled with sober focus and dexterity and getting Steve’s shirt open to the hem in seconds._

_He ran his hands down Steve’s chest, digging his nails in a bit, before sliding the shirt off of Steve’s massive shoulders. Confronted suddenly with this private, shapely part of his boyfriend’s body - the tender slope of his neck and shoulder (Matt’s personal favorite of all of Steve’s curves) - he paused in his seduction. Slowly - revelling in the action - he brushed his lips from the base of that warm, human hill to the very apex at Steve’s ear, and then back again, dropping several lingering kisses on this return journey._

_Horny desperation Steve had a handle on. This quiet, loverlike reverence made him feel faint._

_“Did you have a good night?” he asked a bit breathlessly, trying hard not to be any less level-headed than his inebriated boyfriend and feeling vulnerable._

_“Mmhm,” Matt turned his attentions to Steve’s neck, nuzzling the underside of his jaw. “You always smell good,” he murmured. He kissed the side of Steve’s neck, sucking several rapidly fading marks into the soft skin there. He kissed Steve’s cheek, his chin, and then came back again to his mouth, softer and more delicate than that initial assault. “I wanna tell you I love you,” he slurred, gentle, playful.“But I feel’ike y’won’t believe me.”_

_It wasn’t like Steve had been wondering at Matt’s affections - he’d picked apart and identified his own at the very beginning of this relationship, and since then had started to recognize the selfsame signs in Matt. There was real love between them - even if neither of them had given voice to it (up until this very moment, anyway). It made Steve feel warm all over to actually hear the words._

_“Why won’t I believe you?” he asked with a smile, brushing Matt’s hair from his face and trailing his fingers down along Matt’s cheekbone._

_“Because I’m not_ stone cold sober _. But I love you so much, Steve. I’m gonna tell you in the morning, and you’ll see!”_

_“Lookin’ forward to it.”_

***

Matt hadn't intended to sleep all through the morning and a bit of the afternoon. A day and a half lost to sleep. It couldn’t happen again - too much work to do. He still ached all over, but the pain had lessened a little bit. He could put more weight on his ankle, so moving about the room was more walk, less hobble.

He laid his hands on all the furniture. He opened all the drawers of the dresser; there were several shirts and pairs of sweatpants; he could feel where the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo was printed on every garment. “Retro,” he joked drably. He changed out of the clothes he’d slept in, identical to the fresh ones he was putting on, and then went into the small bathroom and splashed some water on his face.

Standing at the sink, he tried again to piece together the events leading up to the warehouse. That woman - she kept reappearing. He’d followed her through the city all night, listened from the shadows as she met with different groups all over Oslo. And then he’d gone after her into a warehouse. After that, nothing.

“Shit,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

Foggy said he would call soon, but Matt didn’t want to wait around by the phone. He figured he ought to explore these new surroundings, and was exiting the bathroom to do so when there was a sharp knock at the door. He gasped in surprise and his whole body went tense.

“Mr. Murdock?” came an unfamiliar, feminine voice.

Matt privately chided himself. He’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, he hadn’t been paying attention to the world around him - he should’ve been aware of someone approaching long before they were literally at his doorstep. Despite (or maybe, rather, because of) this place having belonged to S.H.I.E.L.D., Matt still needed to keep cautious.

“Yeah, what?” he called out.

“There’s a meeting in 30 minutes. Conference room’s on the 5th floor.”

“A meeting?” he muttered to himself. He started to ask, _What kind of meeting?_ but the stranger had taken off. He could only imagine it had something to do with Fisk - since, apparently, Fury was taking the reins from here on out. Steve, too.

 _Steve_. He didn’t want to think about Steve. All of that intense, immediate pain had dulled to a gray ache, throbbing like a headache at the back of his heart. He wanted to box up everything Steve-related inside of him and shelve it until further notice.

 _Pick up your feet_ , he spelled out for himself. _Walk to the door. Open it._

This was good, he realized with satisfaction - these succinct, immediate thoughts. They put his mind on the present.

_Step outside._

_Close the door._

_Where are your shoes?_

_They didn’t give you any shoes._

_5th floor conference room._

_5th floor._

_Find the stairs._


	6. Chapter 6

When Matt made it up to the 5th floor, he could sense from the hallway that Steve was the only person in the conference room, and there was no way in hell Matt was going to be alone with him. The pain and the shock of it all was still too fresh, too close to the surface. That argument had brought up a lot of shit that Matt just wasn't ready to deal with - feelings he'd kept under wraps for months, thoughts that made him insecure and uneasy. If he was being forced to work with Steve, fine; but anything outside of that, any superfluous moment - fuck no. He lingered by the staircase, leaning against the railing, and found himself contemplating skipping this meeting altogether when a familiar voice called out from down the hall, “Mr. Murdock!”

It was the young woman who had come to his door earlier. Matt gave her a tight smile. “5th floor?” he confirmed.

“Yes, sir. Oh. Did we not leave shoes for you?”

“Not that I could find.”

“I'm so sorry, Mr. Murdock. I'll have a pair sent up right away. The conference room is just through this door. Captain Rogers has already arrived.”

“Great,” he sighed, shrugging to himself and figuring he might as well get accustomed to being unhappy and uncomfortable.

Matt felt ridiculous, limping reluctantly into the room - barefoot and wearing that Juicy Couture tracksuit of a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform. He gathered what little dignity he could muster and stepped inside, and it was impossible to miss the way Steve perceptively stiffened. Matt very carefully selected a chair not too close, not too far away, and, sitting down at the long table, assumed what he hoped looked like a casual position.

 _Ah, yes_ , he thought bitterly to himself. _Karma_. He decided that this was the universe's way of punishing him for being a shit friend to Foggy.

Of course - _of fucking course_ \- Steve smelled amazing. Like his usual self. Any little trace of that particular scent was enough to set Matt on fire. He wished again that he could turn on and off his desire like a light switch. He wished that he could go to Steve and kiss him, and he wished that Steve had never been born.

Seconds started to pass with neither of them saying a word. Before long, they reached that awkward point in time where it was too late for a polite greeting, where they were very, very much aware of one another and aware of the silence.

Steve was becoming a fidgety mess. He seemed as though he wanted to speak, opening his mouth and then shutting it again. Matt almost wanted to help him, but the last time they'd talked, Steve had broken up with him. Matt felt more than a little bit justified in being wary of any conversation.

Sparing them both, Fury walked into the room with Sharon Carter at his side. Matt didn't think he would ever be more grateful for the man's presence.

“Hello, Matt,” Sharon said, taking the seat across from him. “It’s been a while.”

There was relief and real delight in his voice when he replied, grinning, “How are you, Sharon?”

“Eh, I’ll be all right once we catch this guy.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“We think Fisk is still in Oslo,” Fury said without preamble, sitting down next to Sharon and sliding a stack of braille paper across the table.

“What’s this?” Matt said.

“Everything we've got on Fisk and Hydra,” Fury replied.

Matt flipped through all the pages. “Anything of _use_ in here?”

“We just want to get you caught up,” Sharon said. “This is our most up-to-date information.”

“This is a _textbook_. If you know where he is, we need to go after him; not sit around reading about him.”

“We don't know where he is,” Steve said, addressing Matt directly for the first time. He seemed emboldened and relieved to at last have business to discuss. “Only that he _might_ still be in Oslo, and even that's still up in the air.”

“This guy is good,” Sharon said. “We've gotta tread lightly and stay informed if we wanna get close to him.”

“I want you two on the streets,” Fury said, indicating Sharon and Steve. “Ears to the ground. See if anyone’s talking. Murdock, do your homework tonight. You and me are gonna hold down the fort.”

“I need to be out there,” Matt said firmly.

Fury scoffed. “In case you've forgotten about your new _celebrity_ status-”

“I've been going around unrecognized for the past 4 months,” Matt interrupted. “No one's still talking about the Barnes case. And, besides, I'll disguise myself.”

“That might have worked a few days ago,” Sharon said. “Listen to these headlines: ‘Barnes Attorney Matthew Murdock Spotted in Oslo,’ ‘Matthew Murdock of Nelson and Murdock Hiding in Norway,’ ‘Murdock Flees the Spotlight - Found in Norway Capital.’”

“Someone’s talking to the press?” Matt said, shocked and bewildered. He'd covered his tracks so carefully. 

“Trying to distract you, I’d bet. Must mean you were doing a good job - got a little too close to them for comfort. But now you’re all over the news, and that ridiculous hashtag is resurfacing.”

Matt cocked his head. “Hashtag?”

“#PowerCouple?” Sharon said with a sign. “People are wondering if you and Steve are going to become more public, now that you've been flushed out of hiding. They're waiting for some kind of a statement.”

“I think we should give them one,” Steve said.

“And say what?” Matt asked. “‘Good evening, everyone. I’m actually trying to track down Wilson Fisk - yeah, _the_ Wilson Fisk, the one who broke out of prison - and it'd be really great if I could have some space. Oh, by the way, I'm the Daredevil. Thanks and goodnight.’ Tony Stark style?”

“If you don't say _something_ , people are gonna be looking for you,” Steve said. “The longer you wait, the harder they'll look. You might not like what they find.”

“Y’know, it's not a terrible idea,” Sharon mused. “You and Steve make a statement together about why you left the country - some bullshit excuse, health reasons or something - and ask for privacy. Put all the rumors to rest and hope that the hype dies down. And then we get you back to work.”

“Why does this only affect me?” Matt said. “Aren't people gonna be looking for Steve, too?”

“Captain Rogers,” Fury said, “Is the most highly trained covert operative in the nation.”

Matt scoffed. “Yeah, all right,” he said sarcastically, reaching out to gather up all the braille papers. “Anything else? We done here?”

“I'll help you two put together a statement,” Sharon said. “Something we can release to the press to keep people at bay.”

“You really think that's gonna work?” Matt asked.

“It's worth a shot,” she said.

“I might know someone who can help,” Fury said. “An old agent. Works in television now, owes me a favor.”

“Call ‘em in,” Sharon said. “What are we thinking, guys? Health concerns? Family?”

“I don’t have any family,” Matt said.

“Health it is.” Sharon flipped open a notebook and started scribbling. “Heart problems...? Cancer scare...?”

“I don’t think we need to be so specific,” Steve said. “‘Health concerns’ should suffice.”

“And this is supposed to sate everyone’s curiosity?” Matt said skeptically. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“We won’t know until we try,” Sharon said.


	7. Chapter 7

The retired agent Fury brought in to assist them was an older, tiny, no-nonsense sort of woman named Claudia Williams. Steve recognized her at once - she’d been a good friend of Peggy’s, the first black S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and one hell of a markswoman.

“So this is him, huh?” she’d said, sizing Steve up as she shook his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met, Captain Rogers. I certainly would have remembered.”

“Agent Williams,” Steve said warmly, smiling at the compliment. “It's an honor.”

“Same to you, young man.” She turned to Matt and firmly shook his hand. “Mr. Murdock, I followed your progress on the Barnes case. Excellent work. What a shame, them trying to convict them Sergeant. It's a good thing there are men like you in the world.”

Matt graciously returned the handshake, filled with immediate respect and admiration. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the man standing beside him - charming, courteous, exquisitely polite and well-mannered. She and Steve both had courtesy down to an art form - must be a trademark of Golden Age S.H.I.E.L.D., Matt decided. “Thank you, m’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Agent Williams has retired to show biz,” Fury explained, putting a friendly hand on one of her slim shoulders. She placed one of her hands over his and smiled up at him.

“Nothing that fancy,” she said. “Just a few TV jobs here and there - behind the scenes. Beats getting shot at.”

“I’ll bet,” Steve chuckled.

Matt wanted to punch him in the face.

Sharon entered the room. She introduced herself to Agent Williams, and then explained their idea to her. Yesterday, they’d concluded their meeting by writing out a script for Matt and Steve to follow. Matt had memorized all the key points before settling down to start reading through the Fisk files.

While Sharon talked, Agent Williams listened intently. She asked all of them questions about what exactly they were going for. When it came time to talk business, that flowery, superfluous charm was gone, and in its place was stern and direct professionalism. Her questions were clipped and to the point. All the warmth left her voice. Matt was a little bit terrified. She must’ve made a fantastic agent, he mused. He could only imagine what it must’ve been like for every criminal she’d interrogated.

They showed her to the little “studio” they’d put together - 2 stools set up against a white wall. Agent Williams literally threw the stools aside, and then directed her assistant to move over one of the low leather couches and a small table with a fake potted plant.

“Sit down,” she said to Matt and Steve, “And be still.”

They obediently moved to the couch, awkwardly sitting down with about a foot of space between them, and neither man said a word or moved a muscle while Agent Williams and her assistant set up all of their film equipment.

Once the camera was in place, the lights adjusted, the mics tested, she looked at them through the lens. “Mr. Murdock, take the Captain’s hand.”

Matt hesitated, and then lightly put his hand into Steve’s, hardly touching him at all.

“Not like that,” Agent Williams said, walking out from behind the camera. She took Steve fearlessly by the shoulders and tilted him closer to Matt. “Scoot,” she ordered. He did, at once. She looped his arm under Matt’s and pressed their hands together, instructing them to interlace their fingers. She took Matt’s other hand and laid it atop their joined ones. This done, she took several steps back to look at them and said, “Now try to look like you love each other.”

Matt huffed a humorless little laugh. Steve’s expression tightened.

Agent Williams went back behind the camera. “Ready?” she asked.

“Yes,” Matt said.

She counted down from 5. Matt shifted a bit closer to Steve, straightening his spine, lifting his chin. He put on a smile - the same smile he used to win over juries in the courtroom. Agent Williams cued him in.

“Hi, there! This is Matthew Murdock, speaking freely and of my own volition.”

“Steven Rogers. Same thing.”

“It’s come out recently that I’ve spent the past few months in Oslo, Norway, and here’s why: immediately following Sergeant James Barnes’s case, I received a bit of unlucky information regarding my health and relocated to Oslo for treatment. I am pleased to report that I am currently in recovery, and will return to the States when my condition allows it.”

“In the meantime,” Steve said, “For the sake of Matt’s recovery, we’re asking for privacy.” He touched his shoulder to Matt’s, stroked his thumb back and forth over Matt’s hand. “We want him back at his best, and back at Nelson and Murdock, as soon as possible.”

“Thank you all for your concern,” Matt said tightly. “And thank you for your time.” He put on his smile again, held it until Agent Williams called out, “And... cut!”

Matt took his hands off of Steve and got to his feet.

“I think that'll work,” Agent Williams said. “Do you want another take?”

He could feel the tears coming up in his eyes and the heat in his cheeks. His throat was tight when he said, “No, that's fine. Thank you.”

He hastened out of the room without another word, feeling exceedingly rude and childish. Hustling down the hall to find a private place, he gave his head an incredulous little shake - had he really started to cry? Of all things, to _cry_? Just from holding Steve’s hand and being close to him? From pretending that everything was okay, when everything in his life was falling apart? It was really no different from being in court, and having to put on a calm, confident face when a cross examination is going to shit. What was it that made the last few minutes any different?

He knew the answer, of course, but didn’t want to acknowledge it for fear of tapping that nerve again. He was disappointed in himself for having nearly lost his composure. He felt like a child.

Coming to the stairs, he climbed them 2 at a time, hoping to come at last up out of this massive basement, hungry for sunlight and open air.

“Hey, Matt! Matt, wait up.”

For a wild, desperate moment, he imagined it was Steve calling out to him, coming after him. And then Sharon was several steps behind him and he reluctantly slowed to a stop.

“What’s up, Sharon?” he asked, aiming for _casual_ and probably landing somewhere around _fucking insane_.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah. Just gonna get some fresh air.”

She hesitated a moment. “Stop me if I’m overstepping here, but is everything all right with you and Steve?”

Matt sighed, feeling stupid for thinking he could get anything past Sharon. Ever since Steve had introduced them, theirs had been a very open, unusually intuitive sort of friendship. “You’re not overstepping,” he assured her, leaning up against the railing. “Me and Steve are... God, it sounds so juvenile. We’re taking a break.”

“As in?”

“As in, not together. Anymore. At the moment.”

“Well, that explains a lot... Did something happen?”

“We got in a fight, and a lot of stuff came up that neither of us are ready to deal with.”

“Shit.”

“Y-up.”

“Y’know, if you ever wanna talk about it-”

“Actually, I was wondering... When I was gone...” Matt paused, not quite sure how to phrase his thinking. “You saw him while I was away, yeah?”

Sharon, of course, caught on right away. “A few times... He was really upset, Matt. I haven’t seen him like that in a long time.”

 _Since they pulled him from the ice_ , Matt deduced, feeling again like a complete asshole. “I wish I had handled things differently. I should have told him I was leaving.”

“Do you think that would’ve changed anything?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. At least he wouldn’t have had to worry about me.”

“Steve is always gonna worry about anything and everything.” She touched his arm. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

Matt huffed. “You’re the only one.”

“You talk to Foggy yet?”

“Yeah, yesterday. He’s pissed, of course.”

“Of course,” Sharon wryly agreed.

“Actually, he said he was gonna call me back... Is there any way I could get a cell? I don’t wanna have to wait by the landline.”

“Sure thing. I’ll see to it before I leave.” She checked her watch. “I've gotta get back; Steve and I are gonna head out soon.”

“Off to Oslo?”

“Off to Oslo... Listen: if there’s anything you need, or if you just wanna talk...”

He gave her a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Sharon. Be careful out there.”

“I’m always careful.” She climbed the few steps between them and pulled Matt into a hug. "I mean it, Matt. If you need anything, I'm right here."

"Thank you."

She left him alone in the stairway, and for a long while he stood at the little landing with his hand on the rail.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve had been dreaming about Matt every night since Matt had left New York, and, in some sad, masochistic way, he almost looked forward to sleep. At least in his dreams he could speak freely and passionately, and hold Matt in his arms again.

The most recent of these dreams had taken place in Manhattan at the Stark Industries gala where they met, when Steve had gotten tongue-tied and flustered and so completely disarmed by that incredible smile - except here, in these cloudy, inconsequential dreams, Steve could say to him what he had really wanted to. Sleeping and dreaming, he took Matt by the hand and led him onto the dance floor. Anonymous, blurry faces whirled all around them. He put his hands on Matt’s hips and they swayed back and forth. Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

“See something you like?” Matt said, just as he had in real life.

“Yes.” He lowered his head and kissed the side of Matt’s neck. “Very much.”

“What was that for?” Matt asked him, laughing - openly joyous in a way Steve hadn’t seen him in _months_.

“I’ve only known you for 5 minutes,” Steve replied, sharing in Matt’s mirth. “But I think I’m in love with you.”

“Oh, really?” Matt had his arms around Steve’s neck, the fingers of one hand gripping his cane, those of the other sifting through his hair.

Steve kissed his laughing, smiling mouth, and while he kissed him - over and over, insatiable, loving the feel of his happy mouth and the taste of the joy in it - he said, “You looked at me once and you knew who I was. You looked at me without even seeing me. No one’s ever done that before.” Those light, loving kisses turned ravenous. He loosened Matt’s bow tie and unbuttoned his shirt, splayed one hand wide over his bare chest and rubbed his thumb over his nipple.

“You don’t make it easy,” Matt replied. His voice was high and breathless - the way he always sounded when Steve paid such tactile attention to him. He let his cane fall to the floor and put his hands in Steve’s hair, not caring at all about the people around them.

Waking from this particular dream had been hard for Steve. It had nothing to do with the outright eroticism - it was seeing Matt happy again and knowing he had only dreamed it.

When Matt had hurried out of the room, Steve got up on his feet to go after him. But then Sharon was already in pursuit, and Steve figured realistically that hers would be a much more welcomed presence.

He sat with Agent Williams and looked over their one take. On tape, Matt looked easy-going and relaxed. Their shoulders were pressed together, and, when it was Steve’s turn to talk, Matt had shifted closer to him, letting his leg lean over to touch Steve’s. _Acting_ , Steve reminded himself. Matt was a fantastic actor - it’s what made him a fantastic lawyer.

He thanked Agent Williams and her assistant, helped them pack up their camera equipment, and, when she waved off his offer to show her out, shook her hand again and watched her leave.

“So, what’s next?” he asked Fury, alone in the room with him.

“We put out the video, and hope nothing like this comes up again.”

Steve nodded. He sat down on the couch and put his chin in his hand, staring down at the floor.

“Captain Rogers” Fury said. Steve looked up at him sharply. “Whatever’s going on with you and Murdock, don’t let it affect the mission.”

“Understood.”

Fury looked hard at him. Steve stared back unflinchingly.

“No distractions,” Fury said, moving to leave the room. “We can’t afford it.” He exited just as Sharon was reentering.

Steve waited until the door closed again before getting on his feet and walking over to Sharon. “Where’s Matt? Is he okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said quickly, nodding her head. “How’s the video look?”

“What’d he say to you? Is everything all right?”

“You could ask him yourself,” she suggested. “I just got a call from the hangar. They’re having problems with the jet.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Engine’s down. They’ve gotta call someone in. Looks like we won’t be heading out for another hour or so.” She nodded towards the door. “I think he went to his room. I’ll call you if there’s an update.”

“Thank you.”

He walked all the way down to the residence floor - second-guessing himself the whole way - and came to Matt’s room, hesitating a moment before raising his hand to the door. Before he could knock, Matt opened it wide and braced his hand on the frame, standing fully in the doorway. His hair was wet from the shower, his skin prettily flushed and looking warm to the touch. He had on a fresher pair of sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt, zipped down just enough for Steve to see his bare, unclothed chest underneath.

“I thought you and Sharon had left already.”

“There’s a problem with the jet. They’re looking into it right now.”

Matt nodded. “What do you want?” he asked brusquely.

Steve tightened his jaw. “You seemed upset earlier.”

“I’m fine. Safe travels.” He started to close the door and Steve stopped it with his hand.

“I know we’re taking a break,” Steve said. “But can we at least agree to be friendly to one another? It feels like you’ve been avoiding me.”

“What did you expect? Did you think we’d still be friends?”

“I was _hoping_  we would.” Steve took a deep breath, dropping his hand from the door. “You know I still care about you, right? I never stopped...” _Loving you_ , he wanted to say. But it seemed inappropriate somehow - far too tender and intimate. “I never stopped being your friend.”

Matt’s expression softened. He sounded young and imploring when he asked, “Then why did you break up with me?”

Steve turned away from Matt and ran his fingers through his hair, cupping his hand around the back of his neck. “I suggested we take a break,” he said slowly. “Because I feel like there are still some things we’re both wrestling with that we need to figure out on our own.”

“And we can’t we just _talk_ about it?”

“I don’t know - _can_ we? Whenever we try to talk, we end up getting in a fight - even before Bucky’s case... This can’t be _news_ to you, Matt.”

Matt took his lower lip between his teeth. He came several steps forward until he was standing directly in front of Steve. “Just tell me, Steve, and be direct: is this something you _want_ to keep doing? You and me?”

“I... I don’t know. But not because of - I mean...” He hesitated a moment. “That doesn’t mean I’m not in love with you anymore, or that I don’t want to be with you. There’s no one else in the world for me.” Steve delicately touched his fingertips to Matt’s unshaven jaw, letting his thumb drift over to the cleft in Matt’s chin. “I just don’t know what else to do, Matt. I don’t wanna lose you, but we can’t keep going on like this, being mad at each other all the time.”

“I know,” Matt muttered, putting his hand over Steve’s. “I’ve gotta say, though... The past few days haven’t been that great.”

Steve huffed. “You’re not wrong, Murdock.”

The smallest hint of smile came to Matt’s lips. He closed his eyes and turned his face into Steve’s palm.

Steve tried to think on all the reasons why he’d fallen in love with Matt in the first place and couldn’t come up with any. There hadn’t been any logic in it. Matt’s generosity, his wit, his unwavering loyalty - Steve hadn’t experienced these things until _after_ he was all wrapped up in the other man. Magnetic, electric creature - he had loved Matt immediately, and desperately, with neither rhyme nor reason to explain his feelings away.

“Let’s just give it a shot,” Steve said gently. “Couple of weeks, and then... I guess we’ll see what happens.”

“I love you, too, y’know.”

“I know.” Steve slid his hand around the back of Matt’s neck and pulled him into a kiss.

“Steve,” Matt said softly, startled, his mouth open and hot against Steve’s. “Baby.” He put his hands on Steve’s waist and kissed him over and over, tender and unhurried.

This was how he should’ve kissed Matt before, Steve decided, the other day when Matt had put his arms around him.

Matt moved his hands to Steve’s back and held him close. He moaned a bit into Steve’s mouth, turning his head to deepen that sweet point of contact and touching his tongue to Steve’s lower lip.

It would be easy as anything for Steve to take the zipper of Matt’s hoodie between his thumb and his forefinger. He wanted every part of Matt’s body at once. He wanted to lick into Matt’s mouth and, while tasting him there, taste the curve of his shoulder and the back of his knee. He curled his hand around Matt’s throat, flattened it out against his sternum. His other hand came down to Matt’s hip, fingers dipping under his sweatpants to press into his bare skin.

“We probably shouldn’t have sex, huh?” Matt said breathlessly. “If we’re supposed to be taking a break from one another?”

“I-I don’t know about that.”

Matt smiled wide and genuine, his soft, laughing breath warm and welcome on Steve’s face. “Well, what do _you_ think?” he asked, kissing Steve’s lips again. He put his hands underneath the back of Steve’s shirt and ran them up and down his sides.

“I’ll have to... think about it,” Steve said feverishly. His cell phone chirped, and Matt reached into Steve’s back pocket to pull it out for him.

“Sharon,” Steve said, taking his phone from Matt and glancing down at the text message. “I’ve gotta go.”

“I hate that I can’t go with you,” Matt said.

“Next time.” Steve brushed Matt’s hair from his face and kissed him soundly once more. “I’ve gotta go,” he said again.

“Okay.”

They took their hands off each other and Steve walked away backwards, watching Matt where he still stood in the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your feedback and continued interest and support! Your comments have been very encouraging, and I hope you’re all enjoying the story so far.


	9. Chapter 9

“Welcome to Oslo,” Sharon said glumly. She zipped her jacket all the way up to her chin and put her hands in her pockets, wincing at the raindrops pelting her face.

Steve didn’t mind the dampness, or the chill. He was composing in his head what he wanted to say to Matt - useless as it was, since they were _taking a break._ (He hated the phrase, hated that he’d been the first one to mention it - he didn’t know what else they could call it, but he’d have to come up with _something_ just for sanity’s sake.)

“Hey, Steve,” Sharon said.

 _Know that you can talk to me about anything_ , Steve was saying to an imagined Matt Murdock. _Moving forward, we should just say what we’re feeling and not let this stuff simmer._

“You still with me, Steve?”

“Yeah. Yes. Sorry.”

“So, we are looking for...”

“Lars Carstensen. He was spotted with Fisk a few days ago.”

“Very good.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Sharon.”

“Just checking."

Everything was grey and blue on the outskirts of the city. There were only a few people out at this time in the evening, and none of them acknowledged Steve or Sharon. They walked in companionable silence along the route Sharon's GPS had provided. After a while, the light rain let up a bit. As the evening went on, they saw fewer and fewer people on the streets until they were pretty much alone. They came to a stop at an intersection, waiting to cross, and Sharon noticed a soggy newspaper on the pavement. She bent down to peel it up.

“Steve. Look like someone we know?”

Carstensen’s mug shot took up the entirety of the front page.

“Know any Norwegian?” Steve asked.

“A little bit,” Sharon said. “Um... ‘Fifth Missing Boy Found Dead in Dumpster, Legs Missing- Police Suspect Lars Carstensen.’ Huh... It seems our man has a habit of picking up male prostitutes and cutting their legs off.”

“Great,” Steve muttered. “Can't wait to meet him.”

Sharon dropped the newspaper to the ground again and they kept moving. It was completely dark outside by the time they came to stop in front of what looked like an abandoned office building.

“This is it?” Steve said skeptically.

“That’s what the GPS says,” Sharon replied. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Steve forced open the front door and they gingerly stepped inside. Sharon led the way with her gun drawn.

As far as secret hideouts went, this one was dull and unimaginative - narrow, dimly lit hallways with flickering lights, empty offices, dust in the air. They walked with caution until they came to an open area, huge and empty save for a couple of cardboard boxes stacked and turned on their sides.

“You sure this is the place?” Steve asked.

“Positive - wait. Do you hear that?”

He stood still and listened. “Sounds like water.”

“Where’s it coming from?”

Following what sounded like a running hose, they walked down another eerie, empty hallway and found a stairway at the end of it. They walked slowly down the stairs, coming down to a long hallway lit only by the bright, ugly light spilling out from an open doorway. Soundless and stealthy, they crept up to the doorway and peered inside.

It looked like some sort of medical examination room, with tiled floors, fluorescent lights, counters lined with all kinds of strange equipment, and, right in the center, a long, padded chair outfitted with metal restraints and drenched in blood. A man was moving around the room with a hose, spraying down the chair, guiding the red water into a drain on the floor.

Steve and Sharon stepped fully inside. Steve turned off the water, twisting the little knob at the hose’s source.

The man turned sharply around just as Sharon was reaching out to grab him. He lifted the hose as if to strike her with it and she knocked it from his hand and pushed him to the floor.

“Where is Lars Carstensen?” she asked, speaking Norwegian.

“Fuck you!” he snapped in English, spitting into Sharon’s face.

She punched him hard in the nose before Steve fisted his hands in the man’s shirt, pulling him up off the tiles so that they were eye-level.

“We’ve got all night,” Steve said threateningly. “Where’s Carstensen?”

“I-I don’t know! I don’t know anything!”

“Try again,” Steve said.

“Now we know where he brings his victims,” Sharon said, examining a saw still covered in blood and bits of what looked like human flesh.

Steve turned to look at her and noticed the second man lurking in the doorway - Lars Carstensen himself. Indubitably. Carstensen took off at once, and Steve dropped the man to the floor and ran out after him.

Carstensen was already halfway up the stairs somehow. Steve took the steps three at a time, until he was chasing Carstensen down one of those long hallways, out into the open, empty space, and then out the front door. Steve bounded out onto the pavement just in time to watch a black car speed away. He ran full speed after it down the middle of the road.

The car made sharp turn after sharp turn. Carstensen opened the backseat door and leaned halfway out to unload a handgun at Steve’s feet. Steve veered off to the pavement to dodge these bullets, and then was running after him again.

Before the car skidded to a stop in front of another tall, run down building, Carstensen was out and on his feet, leaping from the backseat and rolling on the concrete before hustling into the building. Steve leaped over the car and went inside after him, closer now to Carstensen than he was before - he could almost reach out and grab him.

They were running up stairs again when Steve tried to throw himself onto Carstensen’s back. The bigger, bulkier man effortlessly threw Steve off of him and over the side of the railing.

He watched from the ground, flat on his back, as Carstensen kept hustling up the stairs, pain shooting all up and down the back of his body. He forced himself to his feet and ran again up the stairs.

Coming all the way to the top floor, Steve stopped and stared into a dark, seemingly empty room.

“Lars Carstensen?” he called out.

“Steven Rogers.” The man stepped fully into what little light the moon let in through the windows. He was just as tall as Steve, and, this close, looked unhumanly strong and menacing. His voice was deep and heavily accented. “You've been asking questions about me.”

“You're a hard guy to track down.”

“It's what keeps me alive.”

“Where's Wilson Fisk? You're the last person he was seen with.”

Lars crossed his arms over his chest. “I don't negotiate with criminals. Not even the rich ones.”

“So he offered you money? For what? Protection?”

Lars took another step forward. Steve held his ground.

“If you're looking for Fisk,” Lars said. “You'll never find him.”

“You are protecting him, then.”

“What do you want from me, Captain Rogers?”

“I think I've made myself clear,” Steve said. He could hear the three men behind him, gingerly closing in. He gave them another couple of seconds to get closer and then turned and kicked the nearest one in the chest.

The other two were on him at once. Lars watched from where he stood as Steve fought them off one by one. One of them pulled out a long knife; Steve disarmed him with ease, and was throwing another one to the floor when Lars was suddenly in front of him, taking Steve by surprise.

His first punch sent Steve staggering back, and then he kicked him with enough force to knock Steve on his back. Steve was back on his feet in a single second, fists in the air, standing low and ready. Lars came at him again with that brutal, punishing force; he was remarkably strong - stronger even than Steve. He took Steve by the throat and walked him backwards with ease, slamming him hard against the wall. While Steve was out of breath and disoriented, Lars grabbed him again, fisting one hand in Steve’s shirt, and punched him several times in the face.

“Tell Nick Fury,” he growled, dropping Steve to the floor and kicking him once in the stomach. “That Wilson Fisk is coming, and he will burn you all to ashes.”

He grabbed a fistful of Steve's hair and forced his head to the side. “Hail Hydra,” he whispered directly into Steve's ear.

Lars turned around and walked away, plucking a walkie talkie from his pants pocket and bringing it to his lips. “Do it,” he said in Norwegian. He tossed the walkie talkie aside and started running full speed towards the window.

Steve watched him leap through the glass. Seconds later, everything was crashing down all around him.

***

Sharon felt the explosion before she saw it. She was several blocks away, speeding after Steve in a car she’d found on the street and hastily hotwired.

She had come to the building and was getting out of the car when the whole ground seemed to move underneath her. The first of the blasts came from the very top floor, and then there was another several floors underneath it, and then another. Sharon ran behind the car to take cover, dropping her head to her knees and clamping her hands over the back of it.

When the dust and debris were starting to settle, she staggered to her feet, disoriented, and started moving in the general direction of what was left of the building. Sirens wailed in the distance. She could hardly see her hand in front of her face.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, stumbling through the uneven terrain, falling over and over to her hands and knees and then getting up again. “Oh my god.”

She came to a great pile of shattered concrete and tried to climb over it. She sliced her palm open on a bit of broken pipe and, crouching down to examine the source of this injury, found an upturned, open hand nestled in among the rubble.

“Steve? Steve!”

She dropped down to that hand at once and started digging, lifting with both hands the great pieces of rock that had buried him, carefully nudging and rolling what she couldn’t carry. Bit by bit, a full arm was revealed - broken in several places - and then a torso, the leather jacket ruined, the shirt soaked in blood. When she got to Steve’s face, he was almost unrecognizable.

“Fury!” she barked into her comm, making a keening, desperate sound at the crackling static on the other end. "Agent 13 to Fury! Can you read me?”

“Sharon?” His voice was shaky and unclear.

“Captain Rogers is down,” she said. “And he’s unresponsive. I need help.”

“Copy that,” Fury replied. “Sit tight.”

She took Steve’s hand in both of hers and held him as delicately as she could. “Steve? Steve, can you hear me? Just hold on for a while, okay? Steve? _Steve_.”


	10. Chapter 10

_“Are we just gonna keep on pretending we’re not attracted to each other?” Matt asked, tracing the rim of his whiskey glass where he’d set it down on the bar. At this time of night, the place had all but emptied out. It was just them, the bartender, and a couple of drowsy patrons._

_“We don’t have to,” Steve replied, not missing a beat. “My apartment’s around the corner.”_

_Matt tried not to look so surprised. He figured he shouldn’t be, since Steve Rogers had already proven to be full of surprises, and Matt wouldn’t have said anything in the first place if he hadn’t thought his suspicions had truth in them._

_“Is it now?” he said with a smirk, lifting his drink and downing the last of it._

_“Last time I checked.”_

_“Well, then...” Matt took a couple of bills out of his wallet and tossed them onto the counter. He picked up his cane and got on his feet as Steve swiveled on his barstool around to face him. He moved right up into Steve's space, standing between Steve's legs. “You gonna take me home or what?”_

_Steve picked up his leather jacket and slowly got on his feet, bringing him and Matt even closer together. Matt lifted his chin. He could smell the alcohol on Steve's breath, the laundry detergent on his shirt, and, underneath it all, that clean, musky, particularly_ Steve _scent that no one else in the world carried. If he just tipped his head back a bit, if Steve bent down, he could kiss Steve right here in the bar like he'd been wanting to all night, ever since Steve had called him and asked, “What are you doing tonight?” and Matt had told him to come and meet him in Brooklyn, already one shot in and waxing poetic to Foggy about how much he wanted to hold Steve down and ride him till they were both screaming._

 _They’d only known each other for a couple of weeks, had only gotten together several times, but already_ harmless _was turning into_ heavy handed _flirting. Steve was funny and charming and Matt loved spending time with him. He also wanted Steve to take him by the hair and fuck his throat raw, but mostly he simply enjoyed Steve’s company._

_Steve put on his jacket. His hand was moving forward and Matt hoped Steve was going to grab him, take Matt by waist, by the belt, pull him even closer until they were all pressed together. Steve lightly brushed the back of his fingers down the bare skin of Matt’s forearm._

_“It's chilly outside,” Steve said, his voice low and soft._

_“I’ve got you to keep me warm.”_

_“You've had better lines.”_

_“And obviously they worked, so it’s not like I have to try anymore.”_

_“That so?”_

_“Mmhm.” Matt hooked his fingers in Steve's belt loop. “Who knew Captain America would be so_ easy _?”_

_“Can’t have you thinkin’ I’m easy. I guess I'll have to make you work for it.”_

_Matt smiled. “About damn time,” he growled, curling his hand around Steve’s neck and leaning in to finally -_ fucking finally _\- kiss that smart mouth._

_“Not here,” Steve whispered, right up against Matt’s lips._

_“No one's looking,” Matt lied._

_Steve reached up and took Matt’s hand, moving it down from his neck. “It’s not a long walk,” he said, somehow loading those simple words with such sweet, filthy promise._

_Matt was going to fucking ruin him._

_“Lead the way,” he said. He unfolded his cane and followed Steve out the bar. “It got colder,” he commented once they were out on the sidewalk._

_“Told you.”_

_“So where do you live exactly?” Matt started to say, but he’d hardly finished his sentence before Steve had grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into an alleyway. He pressed Matt up against the wall and kissed him hard on the mouth._

_Matt dropped his cane to the ground and put his hands in Steve’s hair. Steve’s big, hard body felt so good against his. Matt arched and pressed into him, moaning into Steve’s mouth._

_“God, Matt... you’re so...”_

_Matt curled his hand around Steve’s jaw and deepened the kiss, slowing that hot, frantic pace and tasting Steve thoroughly. “So what?” he asked, kissing Steve’s lips, his jaw, nuzzling the side of his warm neck._

_“So... so... I dunno, so_ sexy _.”_

_Matt chuckled against Steve’s skin. He brought his face back to Steve’s, smiling and sighing into all the slow, wet kisses Steve pressed to his lips. “We should...”_

_Steve nodded. “Yeah. Let’s...”_

_“Let’s go.”_

***

“I talked to him,” Matt said, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He cradled his new cell phone between his ear and his shoulder and put in his lap the stack of papers from Fury.

“And?” Foggy said.

“We both agreed that this is probably the best thing for us right now. Taking a break, I mean.”

“You really think so?”

Matt sighed, flipping open in the files to where he'd last left off. “Got any better ideas?”

“Couples counseling?”

“Any _real_ ideas?”

“I'm serious,” Foggy said. “There's gotta be _someone_ in New York who specializes in superheroes. You could ask around.”

“Probably. I just can't imagine Steve getting on board with any kind of therapy right now. He's had enough psych evals to last a lifetime - courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D., of course... Honestly, I don't know why he still trusts Fury after everything that's happened. I certainly don't.”

“Maybe it's a ‘keep your enemies closer’ kinda deal.”

“Maybe.” Matt plopped the files onto his bedside table and laid back, stretching his body along the full width of the bed. It was great to talk to Foggy without any fighting or yelling or blaming, but he really just wanted to Steve to come back already. It had only been a few hours since he’d left and Matt wanted him back so badly. He wanted Steve to kiss him again. “God, I miss sex,” he whined. “It’s been 4 fucking months of me and my left hand and, y'know, I've gotta say, I’m _really_ over it.”

“There’s a very easy solution to that particular predicament.”

Matt groaned. “I just don’t know if we should be having sex if we’re not technically _together._ It’s only gonna complicate things.”

"I'd say things are already pretty complicated-"

"Complicate things _further_."

“You don’t have to be in a relationship with somebody to fuck them.”

“Yeah, I know that. But this is different.”

Foggy sighed. “Well, y’all have already been exclusive for what... 2 years, 3 years? You’re both adults, with adult needs. You both know what the other likes. Honestly, I don't see any harm in having sex if that's all that it is. You’re already super stressed - there's no need to deprive yourselves.”

“Speaking of...”

“Deprivation?”

“Sex... How’s it going with Bucky and Natasha?” Matt asked gingerly.

“What, the sex?”

“The whole... thing.”

“It’s not a ‘thing.’ It’s a relationship. Which you would know if you’d decided to stick around.”

Matt sighed, putting his hand over his eyes. They’d been doing so well with the _not fighting_. “I don't know what else you want me to say, Foggy. I'm sorry I left, but I can't go back and change it.”

There was silence on the other end. Matt was worried that Foggy would hang up on him, and then after a while the other man huffed and said, “It's going fine. It's just hard feeling sometimes like... I don't know, like I'm just there to spice up their love life. Because I really _like_ them. _Both_ of them. And then I get worried that I’m being so greedy, y’know, for liking 2 different people? And hoping they both like me back? It’s just really complicated.”

There were suddenly so many footsteps overhead, and so many shouting voices. This many floors underground, Matt couldn’t clearly make out what was being said.

“Wait, Foggy, something’s going on...”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna go check it out. But, hey, we’re gonna talk again soon, all right? Call me whenever.”

“Same to you, man. Keep me updated.”

“Bye.”

He ended the call and got on his feet, putting on his hoodie and quickly leaving the room. He couldn’t be sure what was happening - an ambush, or a drill, or maybe someone had gotten hurt. He walked briskly to the stairs and followed the source of these sounds.

“We need to get him to Medical,” someone was saying.

“Clear the way!” Another voice.

He came to the very first floor and found Sharon alone in the hallway, doubled over, hands braced on her knees.

“Sharon?” Matt went over to her at once. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Move!” someone shouted behind them. “Now!”

She  grabbed Matt’s arm and pulled him aside just as a gurney was wheeled past them.

“Oh,” Matt said dumbly.

He could taste the iron in the air; there was suddenly so much of it. There was a heartbeat, too - a very familiar, particular one,  but it was much fainter and more uneven than usual.

“What happened?” he asked, hearing his own voice as if he were underwater.

“There was another explosion,” Sharon said.

Lightheaded, disoriented, he stumbled back against the wall. He could taste Steve’s blood in the air.

“Matt!”

“Where are they... Where is he going? I have to...”

“We can’t see him yet,” Sharon said gently. “His body’s trying to heal itself, but there’s too much damage. He’s going to need a few surgeries to help the process along.”

“Surgery? He needs surgery?”

“He is going to be okay, Matt,” Sharon said, but it sounded so hollow and forced and unnatural that Matt wished she hadn’t said anything at all. “Look, there’s nothing we can do right now, except get in the way. Why don’t we grab something from the cafeteria, and then... I dunno, sit by Medical and wait for any updates.”

“Another explosion? Why was he... But how did...”

“You have got to take a breath, Matt.”

“The same thing happened to me, right? How did I walk away with a... a _sprained ankle_?”

“A slab of concrete had wedged itself in the space right above you and acted as a shield. Steve... didn’t get so lucky.”

“God.”

She put her arm around him and steered him down another hallway. “Let’s get something to eat, okay? I know you haven’t eaten at all today. And then we’ll come back and check up on him.”

One of the wheels on the gurney was malfunctioning. Matt could hear it squealing and whirling all the way down to Medical.


	11. Chapter 11

Matt pushed around on his tray a little pile of steamed broccoli. He knew he should try to eat something - knew that Sharon wasn't going to let him out of her sight if he didn't - but food was the least of his present concerns.

They were sitting across from each other at a table in the back of the cafeteria, Sharon explaining to him what had happened, how Steve had gone after Carstensen and then ended up buried under a building.

“Are _you_ okay?” Matt asked her. “Your hand’s bleeding through that bandage.”

“Oh.” She looked down at it. “Yeah. I'm fine. Someone looked me over on the plane. Stitches must've come undone.”

Sharon’s phone vibrated on the table. She picked it up to read the message.

“Hey, the first operation was successful.”

“The first?”

Sharon nodded. “He's gonna be in there for a while.”

Matt sighed. He stabbed a piece of rubbery broccoli on his fork and put it in his mouth.

They both cleaned their trays and then Matt made his way over to Medical and Sharon went off to lay down for a while.

Sitting in one of the waiting room chairs, he could hear every voice on the other side of the wall - soft-spoken commands, requests for specific tools. He got lost in it for a long time, was hardly conscious in his listening even as they were closing Steve up and moving him to a private room.

“Mr. Murdock?” someone said. “Matt Murdock?” A man was standing by the double doors that led into Medical - one of the nurses. “Captain Rogers is stable, if you’d like to visit him.”

Matt got up on his feet as though he were sleepwalking. He followed the nurse down a hallway, lingered back a few steps as the man walked into a room and held open the door. Walking inside, putting on bravery like an armor, Matt didn't know what he'd find and he was petrified of it.

The air in here was cold and sterile. There was a low, ominous hum coming out of the machines; several overlapping little beeps were overlaying it. He could hear Steve’s body working to heal itself, bones and tissue knitting themselves back together under the surface; another slow, strange, subdued sound in this weird room. Underscoring it all, keeping irregular time, was Steve's heartbeat. Since Matt had heard it last, it had evened out to a slower, steadier pace, but was still lacking its usual strength.

He timidly pulled up a chair and sat down close to the bed. Steve’s head was turned towards Matt and he had an oxygen mask over the lower half of his face. Matt delicately traced all the curves and edges of it with the tips of his fingers.

“He can’t breathe on his own?” he asked.

“Not just yet, but there's been rapid improvement already. Whatever he’s made of, it’s healing him very quickly.We’re gonna check on him again in a few hours, see where he’s at, but I wouldn't be surprised if he walks out of here tomorrow.” The nurse stepped out of the room and put his hand on the doorknob. “Press the call button if you need anything.” He closed the door partway and left Matt and Steve alone.

He was scared to touch Steve’s skin, not wanting to be surprised, not wanting it to feel any different. His stomach in knots, he touched shaking, careful fingers to Steve’s brow and all the tension left his body in one great, emotional rush. He couldn’t stop up the tears this time.

***

Matt didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he was suddenly awake, startled out of a nightmare.

He had his head in his arms, folded atop the mattress down by Steve’s waist. He let out a slow, shaky sigh and pressed his face into the sheets. His dreams had shocked and unsettled him, and he was trying to take them out of his thoughts.

He didn't even register the gentle, sifting fingers in his hair until the sound of Steve's breathing - conscious, responsive breathing, markedly different from sleep - came slowly to his attention.

Matt picked up his head at once and scooted closer to the bed, squeezing Steve's hand in one of his, reaching up with the other to stroke his thumb along Steve’s cheekbone.

“Steve. Hi.” The outrageous swelling had gone down significantly; Matt could make out the shape of his face again. “We've gotta stop meeting like this.”

Steve weakly moved his free hand to the oxygen mask and started to wiggle it down.

“Hey, no-”

“I'm all right,” Steve said hoarsely, pulling the mask off over his head. He took a deep, unaided breath and sighed, groaning a little bit.

“What is it?” Matt asked.

“Sore.”

“Yeah, I'll bet. I'm gonna call for the nurse, okay?”

“God, Matt...”

“Yeah? What's wrong?”

“You are absolutely gorgeous.”

Matt gave a self-conscious little laugh and turned his face away. “And you're high on pain meds."

“No, I'm not - Matt - Sweetheart, lemme look at you. Can I look at you, baby? I didn't think I'd ever get to look at you again.”

“Don't say that,” Matt whispered fiercely, sobering in an instant.

“Okay.” Steve squeezed Matt’s hand as best as he could. “Okay. I'm sorry.”

“God, Steve, don't apologize to me. You're the one in a hospital bed.”

Steve was awake and alive and he was trying to be sweet. Matt didn't have the words to express how grateful he was, how completely and hopelessly in love he was.

Sharon came to the door, knocking softly before letting herself in, coffee in hand.

“Look who’s up,” she said warmly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Never better,” Steve rasped.

“You look like shit.”

“Well, all things considered...”

Sharon handed the coffee to Matt, who accepted it gratefully, and then went over to a counter and picked up one of the water bottles there, unscrewing the cap and passing the bottle to Steve.

“Drink,” she ordered.

Matt took the bottle from her and helped Steve shuffle into a more upright position. Steve downed the whole bottle so quickly, Matt wondered if he should be worried.

“We still in Oslo?” Steve asked, his voice sounding less like gravel.

“They airlifted you out of there,” Matt explained. “And brought you back to the base. You needed a few operations.”

“Steve,” Sharon said. “What happened with Carstensen?”

“Hydra happened.”

“Are you sure?” Matt asked.

“I don't know what else ‘Hail Hydra’ could mean.”

“So...” Sharon said, hesitant. “Who wants to call Barnes?”

“We’re not dragging Bucky into this,” Steve said firmly.

“Then we’re on our own,” she replied. “And all we have to go on are some half-credible sources and a bunch of explosions.”

Matt hated himself for saying it, hated the very words themselves, but he gritted them out and tried to sound reasonable, reminding himself of their mission's importance like a tutor talking down to a child: “Sharon’s right - we need Bucky. He’s not gonna like it,” _And neither will I._ "But we can't take down Hydra without him, not if you wanna do it for good this time.”

Steve sat very still and didn't say another word. Without any warning, he suddenly tossed back the blankets and scooted his legs over the side of the bed.

“What the hell are you doing?” Matt asked incredulously.

Steve struggled into a wobbly standing position, and then promptly collapsed again onto the mattress. “Super soldier, remember?” he said. He sounded weak and short of breath. “Give me a couple of hours, I’ll be fine.”

“And until then, the doctors said you should rest,” Sharon said. “You can’t even _stand,_  Steve.”

Steve tried again to get up on his feet and Matt stood in his way, taking Steve’s face in his hands. “I love you,” he said fiercely. “But I will not hesitate to tie you down if you try to get up again. And I don’t mean in a sexy way.”

“Now that we know what we're dealing with, we can’t waste any time. I need to talk to Fury.”

“You _need_ to chill out for a second and let your body do its thing,” Matt said.

“Fury’s already been briefed,” Sharon said. “I just met with him. And we can’t move forward anyway until Bucky gets here, so stop being a little shit. Now: do you wanna make the call, or should I?”

***

“What is _wrong_ with him?” Matt said disbelievingly, shaking his head. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Anyone who runs around dressed as the American flag is bound to have a few screws loose,” Sharon said. They were walking side by side out of the Medical wing, giving the nurse and one of the doctors some room to look Steve over. “Thanks for backing me up. He actually _listens_ to you.”

“Sometimes.”

They came to the tiny waiting room area and Matt plopped down in a chair, rubbing his hands over his face. “Wow, I am _really_ not looking forward to this,” he groaned.

Sharon gave him a sympathetic little pat. “When was the last time you talked to Bucky?”

“When he was being hauled off to Russia. Before that, when he was single-handedly fucking up everything good in my life.”

“Your beef really goes that deep?” she said skeptically.

“He put a huge strain on my relationship, and he's had sex with my boyfriend. Anyone who's touched Steve's dick has gotta die.”

“That's a longer list than you think.”

“I want names.”

“They're either dead by now or stuck in a retirement home. Aunt Peggy’s told me more than I ever wanted to know about Captain America’s wartime conquests.”

“Names, Sharon. They all gotta go.”

“I think you should give Bucky another chance.”

“Nah, I'm good.”

She punched him lightly on the arm. “Don't be like that. He's a really nice guy. Really sensitive. You like sensitive men.”

“If I stop hating him, who else am I gonna blame my neuroses on?” Matt replied, only half-joking. “Also, I’m pretty sure he’s sleeping with Foggy.”

“Wait, _what_? Where’d you hear that from?”

“Call it a hunch. Attorney-client privilege.” Matt gave a _fuck it_ kind of shrug. “So, where can a guy get shitfaced around here?”

“You know what time of day it is, Matt?”

“Doesn't matter. You can't even tell the difference down here."

"Good point. You can come to my room, I guess. I swiped some bourbon from Fury's stash. The really good stuff."

 _God bless Sharon Carter,_  Matt thought vehemently. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so this story's a lot longer than I thought it was going to be...


	12. Chapter 12

Steve was back on his feet by the end of that first day. He wasn't up to his full strength, but still agreed to fly out to New York with Fury to take care of Avengers business and talk to Bucky in person.

Matt spent those several Steve-less days worrying after him, and trying to distract himself from worrying by helping Sharon do research on all of Carstensen’s victims. He fell into some semblance of a routine: working out in the morning, eating, talking to Foggy, and then meeting with Sharon.

They scheduled another meeting for the day Steve got back. This time, they needed to devise a plan for how to move forward with Fisk, now that they were certain Hydra had somehow resurfaced.

Matt wasn't entirely sure, still, how he felt about Bucky Barnes. Bucky had been nothing but kind to Matt, and apologetic, and sheepish - as though he were embarrassed by their unique and awkward circumstances; in moments like these, Matt wanted to comfort Bucky somehow, and then was angry and annoyed by his wanting to comfort him, feeling as though he'd been somehow manipulated. He wouldn't feel so conflicted and uneasy about the whole thing if Bucky were more of an asshole; unfortunately, after having worked so closely with him on the trial, after Bucky having been involved with Steve (which Matt begrudgingly regarded as its own stamp of approval, trusting Steve's judgement completely), Matt didn't have any tangible reasons to outright dislike him and had to reluctantly acknowledge the sheer pettiness of it all.

He knew he was being petty. He still wanted to come off as effortlessly and impeccably put together when Bucky saw him again. He still wanted to mark Steve as _his_ in all kinds of ways.

The day of the meeting, after his post-workout shower, he was going through the clothes they'd provided for him - all stamped with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo, all perfectly appropriate for an afternoon at the gym or an evening on the couch. Sweatpants, t-shirts, hoodies - nothing that screamed, _I am better than you, Bucky Barnes_. He wondered if Steve had anything that wouldn’t be too big. Putting on the glasses they'd given him for the video (or the “Filmed Confession,” as he privately referred to it), he put on a pair of S.H.I.E.L.D. sweatpants, zipped up a S.H.I.E.L.D. hoodie, slipped on the one pair of sneakers they'd provided him with, and went across the hall from his room to Steve's.

He'd been sleeping in Steve's bed ever since Steve had left. What few personal things he had - a coffee cup he stole from the cafeteria, dirty S.H.I.E.L.D. laundry, the files from Fury - were intermingled with Steve's, and the room smelled like the both of them.

He opened Steve's dresser drawer and dug through his jeans and suddenly remembered one of their very first date nights, before they were even calling them _dates_. Steve had invited him over for dinner - which meant good food and great sex - and Matt had playfully tried on a pair of Steve’s pants. They were just as ridiculously, surprisingly tight now as they had been back then. He gasped and laughed now just as he had before, startled into that happy memory.

He missed those lighter, easier days. He missed Hell’s Kitchen. He missed Foggy, and Claire, and Karen. He missed his job. Having Steve with him here, thousands of miles from home, was something he was beginning to be grateful for.

Putting those too long, too tight jeans aside - utterly unable to even fasten the button - he grabbed a pair of Steve’s workout pants, the dry fit material feeling less like a vicegrip. He paired these with a top of the same stretchy fabric - the only one of Steve’s shirts that fit him well - and wondered which was worse: the _just woke up and threw this on_ look he’d been sporting since he came to the base, or these _dressed for the gym but not working out today_ vibes that Foggy loved to bitch about whenever they found themselves in Manhattan.

Matt plucked at his new outfit and sighed. He was tired of dressing like a college student, and wondered if there was any way to recover the clothes he'd been traveling with - including the Daredevil costume. He knew exactly where he'd left them and hoped all his things were still there.

He was sitting on Steve’s bed, putting his shoes back on, when suddenly the sound of Bucky coming down the stairs assaulted all of his senses at once.

“See you in a bit,” Steve was saying, several floors overhead.

“See you.”

That dark, throaty voice. The heavy footfall. The smell of him. Bucky was coming to the residence level. Matt felt all of his muscles come tight together. Bucky was walking down the hallway. He was carrying a duffle bag. He was sighing to himself. He walked past Steve's room, unlocked the door next to Matt’s, and went inside.

_Great_ , Matt thought. _Fucking great._


	13. Chapter 13

Bucky went into the room that they'd told him was his. It wasn't very big. Sparsely furnished. Dusty. He'd slept in worse places. He put his bag on the bed and took off his jacket. He put his hands on his hips and looked around.

The plane ride had been long and quiet. Steve spent the entire trip casting worried glances in Bucky’s direction while Bucky pretended not to notice. When they finally touched down in Estonia, he'd allowed Steve to walk with him a while, hovering close, trying to make conversation, before telling him, “I think I can find my room on my own. I'll meet you on the, fifth floor, was it? The conference room?” He felt bad for dismissing him, but Bucky just didn’t have the energy to put Steve at ease.

Of all the shitty, impossible things that could've happened to him, this had to be the worst.

Hydra was back.

Bucky would have to deal with it.

Ever since the trial had ended, since he'd been brought back to the States after being dragged to Russia on insubstantial charges, Bucky had wanted out (that should've been the first clue, he decided; after that, he should've known it was Hydra, he could've guessed). He’d been thinking everyday about retiring someplace quiet, the French countryside, maybe - someplace where nobody knew him, where time passed slowly and beautifully and he could live out his life in peace.

It was a stupid, fanciful dream because, firstly, he couldn't retire if he wanted to, forever indebted as he was, knowing it would never be enough, he could never atone for the lives he had taken. Secondly, the thought of going away from Foggy and Natasha was unbearable - they'd both become too important. They were more than he knew he deserved.

After Bucky had come back and Steve had moved on, he’d begun writing so many ridiculous letters - to Steve and Matt both - some of them cutting and cruel, some soaked with adoration and love, and in all of them he poured too many touchy, personal things that he couldn't believe he had written, appalled at and afraid of himself. “Love of my life, my distracting, generous master,” he'd written to Steve, a letter he'd never be able to show him, “You taught me how to love; you turned me inside out.” In another, addressed to Matt: “Please be kind to me. It feels as though my soul has been taken out of my body.”

He must have written over a hundred. The day he met Foggy, he’d put them all in a recycling bin.

It still baffled him, how he’d become equally devoted to two people. He wouldn’t have thought it possible if it hadn’t happened to him already. Natasha had been the only warmth and comfort in his life as the Winter Soldier, and when he’d been newly freed from Hydra and out on his own, the feelings he had for her had come out like everything else Hydra had tried to suppress in him: in fleeting little spurts of memory, visceral and sharp (knocking her down in a training session, and helping her to her feet; catching her eyes from across the room; burying his face in her hair), and then, out of nowhere, dropping on him like an anvil, bursting back into life with all the light and color of that same memory remembered.

He had always loved Steve, and in just about every way a person can love someone.

Coming back to the world, and realizing with joy and dismay that Steve and Natasha were still alive, he’d loved and ached for them both and struggled to come to terms with his desires. It wasn’t until he’d been so delicately spurned (and yet, for all of Steve’s rueful tenderness, his soft apologies, it had still felt like a careless blow) and Natasha had given voice to her own enduring affections that he’d allowed his feelings for her to billow and deepen, unimpeded by the guilt of it.

And then he’d met Foggy. Electric shock of a man, utterly compelling creature; there was something about Foggy that made people want to be close to him, and Bucky - still so new to his own emotions, still so raw and responsive - had been affected by him in an irreversible way.

He cared for Foggy deeply and fiercely, just as Natasha did. What an impossible trio - and how perfect. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

So these were his reasons for staying, and now he had another: he would take down Hydra if it killed him ( _especially_ if it killed him, he thought privately, selfishly; Bucky could see the poetic justice in that particular outcome).

He unzipped his duffle bag and started taking things out: his clothes, wrinkled and unfolded; toiletries; knives; several guns; a grenade; body armor; his laptop; his journal. He'd doubted he'd remembered everything, and wouldn't know what he'd forgotten until it came time to use it.

He put his stuff away absent-mindedly, keeping one eye on the time, and wondered at how shocking and strange his new life had become.

***

Matt had slipped out of Steve’s room like a bandit, keeping his footfall light for fear of Bucky coming out into the hallway. He wasn’t avoiding him, per se; he just didn’t want to be alone with him. Being alone with Bucky was awkward. He was walking now to the conference room, where he could hear Steve settling in (first to arrive, as always; responsible and professional in a way that made Matt’s lawyer side swoon). He didn’t know when he would get another chance to be with Steve in private, with Bucky here and with things having taken such a sudden and serious turn, so he climbed the stairs two at a time. Coming to the fifth floor, stopping at the end of the hallway, he took a moment to slow his breathing and put himself in good order. He couldn’t slow his heart rate, however, which had climbed to embarrassing heights and threatened to pound right out of his chest and into Steve’s hands where it belonged.

Matt had stopped being afraid of most things, and then he’d met Steve Rogers. Such a chance of a meeting, too - a last minute invite to a Stark Industries gala because an acquaintance didn’t have a date. Ever since that happenstance introduction, Matt had an entirely new set of fears and worries to grapple with: those that naturally, unavoidably, accompany a serious relationship, and then the ones that accompany a serious relationship with a man who puts his life in danger every day.

One fear in particular was very new and very present in him: what if Steve’s body had suffered some irreparable damage, something all those doctors and his self-healing couldn’t fix? What if his lifespan had been halved? What if Steve was in chronic pain?

None of these seemed to be the case. Steve was standing tall and relaxed when Matt came into the conference room. He couldn’t pick up on any evident changes in him - no hitch in his breathing denoting pain or discomfort, no irregularities in his heartbeat - save for the little spike of excitement at seeing Matt, and the warm chuckle.

“You get a deal with Nike?” Steve asked.

“You tell me.”

“No one's brought you new clothes yet?”

Matt shook his head. “So,” he said.

“So.”

“You seem... good.”

“I feel good. Tired, but I’ll live.” Steve took a step closer to him. “Why, you worried about me?”

“Maybe.”

Another step. “Maybe?” Another. Steve came close enough to put his hands on Matt’s shoulders and slide them slowly down his arms. “You look good in my clothes,” he said softly, smile in his voice.

Matt tried to smile back at him. The most he could manage was a sad little smirk. He put his arms around Steve’s waist and pressed his face into Steve’s neck, sighing at the warmth and solidity of that beloved body - beloved, strong, healthy, healed.

He could hear Sharon coming close to the door, Fury walking beside her. Trailing behind them, smelling of clean sweat and the fresh, outside air, James Buchanan Barnes in all his glory.

The same James Buchanan Barnes whom Steve had been in love with, even while he’d been in a relationship with Matt.

“They’re all on their way,” Matt muttered, reluctantly pulling away.

“We'll talk later?” Steve said hopefully.

“Sure.”

They took their seats at the table just as Sharon appeared in the doorway. Fury came in right behind her, and then Bucky.

He sounded exhausted when he uttered, “Hey, Matt, good to see you,” and dropped heavily down into the seat across from Steve’s. He raked his fingers through his hair (still too long, falling over his face) and sighed like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Matt couldn’t blame him for it.

Too many conflicting, distracting feelings were assaulting Matt all at once: relief at Steve’s recovery; confusion about their relationship; sympathy for Bucky; guilt at his own displeasure with Bucky even being there. He wished they could fast-forward to the part where everything’s been resolved and he’s finally worked through his issues with Bucky and Steve and all the history there.

Sharon passed out agendas and dossiers and everyone settled in.

“All right,” Fury said, flipping open to the first page. “What do we know about Carstensen?”


	14. Chapter 14

“Career criminal,” Sharon said, pulling out Carstensen’s mug shot. “Murder suspect. He's been in and out of prison most of his life. We don't know what he's doing with Fisk, but Steve says we're definitely looking at Hydra.”

“And you are absolutely positive about that?” Fury said measuredly.

“I am,” Steve said.

“Then we need to be very, very careful with how we proceed,” Fury said. “One small slip up and they could drop again off the radar. Now as far as Carstensen knows, Captain Rogers is dead, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

"You fought him, Steve," Sharon said. "What are we dealing with here?"

“He’s strong, fast,” Steve said. “A lot stronger and faster than me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had some form of the serum.”

“How is that even possible?” she asked.

“Hydra,” Bucky said simply.

“Whatever it is,” Steve said. “There might be more of it, more people like Carstensen. For all we know, Fisk could be building an army.”

“What we need is a DNA sample,” Fury said. “From that, we could figure out what exactly this man is made of - and how to counteract it.”

“How the hell are we gonna get a DNA sample?” Matt asked wryly. “Even Steve can't get close to the guy.”

“What about his torture room?” Sharon said.

“Torture room?” Bucky repeated.

“In his spare time, Carstensen likes to pick up rent boys and cut their legs off,” she said.

“They were all foreigners,” Matt added. “Young men who were new to the city. He goes to this place called Hercules: seedy, underground type of bar, and a known hub for prostitution and sex trafficking.”

“Matt and I put together a list of the victims,” Sharon said. “He's definitely got a type.”

Steve flipped to said list in his dossier and laid it out on the table. All of Carstensen’s victims looked remarkably like... well, like Matt. Dark haired, pale complexioned, nearly womanish in their good looks. It made Steve uneasy to look on them, the autopsy photos in particular chilling him to the bone.

“We could set up a sting,” he suggested, stuffing the photos back into the file, out of sight. “Send in an undercover operative, they get a DNA sample, we get them out before he can hurt them.”

“Who would we send?” Sharon said. “We are seriously understaffed, and none of our agents match his M.O.”

“What about Scott Lang?” Fury asked.

“The ‘Ant-Man’?” she said skeptically.

“Scott’s got his hands full in New York,” Bucky said.

“We could hire an actor,” Sharon suggested. “Plant our people all over the club, keep eyes on him.”

Fury shook his head. “Now we're getting into liability.”

“I can play a sex worker,” Matt said.

Bucky shifted in his seat.

Steve stared at him.

Fury cocked his head to the side.

It was Sharon who finally spoke, after struggling for the words. “It’s too big of a risk. He might recognize you from the media.”

“You put some poor actor in that position and he gets his legs cut off, you're gonna have a lawsuit to deal with on top of everything else,” Matt argued. “I fit the M.O., I can hold him off for a while if something goes wrong-”

“I'm sorry, Matt, I'm just not comfortable with it,” Sharon said.

“Sharon, _let me help_. I don't have to go _home_ with the guy. Look: I buy him a drink, slip in a tranquilizer, and while he's out of it, get a good swab for testing.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve said.

“Give us a better idea, then,” Matt snapped.

“You know, it's not a terrible plan,” Sharon conceded. “A little _juvenile_ ; we'd tweak it, of course-”

“You're not _entertaining_ the idea, are you?” Steve interrupted. “Carstensen buried me under a building. You think a tranquilizer is gonna put him down?”

“We don't need to put him down,” Matt said sharply. “We just need to make him docile for a minute.”

“It's too dangerous, Matt,” Steve said, voice breaking on the words. He ducked his head in embarrassment.

Everyone was quiet for a moment, and then Matt said, slowly, pointedly, “If Fisk and Hydra are building an army of knockoff super soldiers, we need to know how to take them down. We don't have the time to sit around and brainstorm some kind of intricate master plan.”

“You wouldn't go in there alone,” Sharon said. She put her hand up to stop Steve just as he was starting to speak. “And you can’t go with him, Steve. Carstensen sees you, it’s all over.”

“I can do it,” Bucky muttered. “He doesn’t know who I am.”

“Everyone knows who you are,” Sharon said. “Your case made national news.”

“I know how to disappear in a crowd,” Bucky said. “Hydra didn't keep me around for my winning personality.”

“Murdock, Barnes: I want you two inside Hercules,” Fury said. “See if our man makes an appearance. Agent 13, Captain Rogers: you're gonna be their backup.” He swiveled in his chair to face Steve with his full body. “Any objections?”

Steve clenched down hard on his jaw, feeling his face heat up.

“Why don't we take a quick break,” Sharon said. “Everyone be back in 10, we'll talk some more about Mission: Hercules, iron out the details.”

Matt got up on his feet at once and walked out of the room. Fury left next, casting one long, meaningful look in Steve's direction.

“Do you need anything?” Sharon asked them, heading over to the door.

“I'm good, thank you, Sharon,” Steve said.

Bucky gave her a tight smile. “No, thank you.”

“Glad to have you on board, Sergeant Barnes,” she said with a nod. The door clicked shut behind her and Steve and Bucky were left alone.

"You okay?" Bucky asked.

Steve sat back in his seat and rubbed his hands over his face. “Should probably be asking you that. I’m so sorry you have to deal with this, Buck.”

“Not your fault.”

“Yeah, I know. I mean you’ve been through more than enough already. It isn’t fair.”

“We start talking ‘fair,’ we’ll be here for hours.”

“Good point.”

“Hey, I saw that video of you and Matt. It was all over the news. He hasn't really been sick, has he?”

“No, that was just our cover.”

“I figured. Foggy’s been filling me in... That sounded dirty. He's been _keeping me updated_.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “How's that going with them?” he asked hesitantly, trying to be polite. There was, of course, some silent, selfish part of him that bitterly wondered at Bucky’s situation. Could there have been a another outcome for the two of them - one in which Steve got to keep Matt _and_ Bucky? If Bucky could do it, and do it comfortably, and healthily, why hadn’t he wanted to do it with Steve?

These thoughts came up in him and he pushed them right back down, ashamed at himself and embarrassed. He was grateful for what they had now - this childhood friendship they’d been piecing back together since Bucky’s trial. Bucky had always been an important part of Steve’s life and he couldn’t stomach the idea of them growing apart.

“It's good. It's... it's really good.” Bucky had on a small, private smile. “Part of me is just waiting for everything to go to shit, but...” He shrugged. “I'm happy.”

“Good,” Steve said warmly. “You deserve it.”

“I guess so.”

“No, Buck, you do. You do.”

“You’re still pissed at Matt, I gather.”

“I'm not... pissed...”

“Mmhm.”

“I'm _not_ , I'm... I don't know.” He touched his fingers to his mouth absentmindedly. “I just worry about him all the time. I worry he's gonna take off again and get himself killed, and that he doesn't take anything seriously - not even his own goddamn life. And I know it's getting in the way of us healing things, but I just can't stop worrying.”

“Well... I think trust is a big part of it. Trusting that he's not gonna hurt you again, ‘cause that's what this is really about - don't give me that look.” He chuckled. “You always did wear your heart on your sleeve.”

“And you've always been the best at reading me,” Steve said softly, nostalgically.

“Sap.” Bucky smiled. “Cut the overprotective crap and tell him what's really going on. He cares about you. He'll listen.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

"Don't mention it. Now..." Bucky flipped in his file to the page detailing Carstensen's arrests. "What exactly did you see in Oslo? What did he say to you?"


	15. Chapter 15

Carstensen’s pattern was predictable; all of his victims disappeared on a Thursday. It being a Wednesday, they wasted no time in loading everyone into a jet and flying them out to Oslo.

The sun was just starting to set when they landed. They walked in silence from the drop off point, Matt and Sharon in front, Steve and Bucky trailing behind them, to the hotel they had booked under aliases.

“How many rooms we get?” Bucky asked. While Sharon checked them all in, he’d been sitting with Matt and Steve in the overstuffed lobby chairs.

“I asked if another double opened up, but since we booked at the last minute we’re stuck with a double and a king.” She held up a pair of roomkeys. “Who wants to share a bed?”

Bucky looked between Steve, whose full attention was on his shoes, and Matt, who shrugged his shoulders and said flatly, “I’m fine with whatever.”

When it was clear Steve wasn’t going to speak, Bucky ran a hand through his hair and muttered, “I don’t care.”

“Okay,” Sharon said, doling out key cards. “Executive decision: me and Bucky will take the double beds, Steve and Matt will take the king. That work for everyone?”

***

Matt went at once to right side of the massive bed and such a sharp pang of homesickness stabbed through Steve that he almost gasped at it. These had always been their respective sides: Matt slept on the right, Steve on the left. It made him think on lighter days, and wonder if they would ever get back to the ease they had with one another before.

Steve put his duffle bag on the floor (by the left side of the bed) and shrugged off his jacket. “You wanna order room service?” he asked.

“Go ahead,” Matt said. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

Steve looked in Matt’s direction and was met with the sight of him tugging his shirt up over his head.

He could think for hours on every detail of Matt’s body - inch by inch, giving every part equal consideration - and still not be prepared for the sight of it. A hot shock of desire sparked a fire in his veins that carried all through his body, like a stripe of kerosene met with a match.

And then Matt’s words caught up with him and he stuttered out, “Where are you going?”

“I was living in this walk up, couple miles east. I’m gonna swing by and see if any of my stuff is still there.” Matt unzipped his own duffle bag and dug around for a moment, producing a long-sleeved black shirt that he pulled on over his head.

He didn’t like the idea of Matt going out in the city alone - the last time he did so, he ended up in a hospital bed, and with Carstensen on the loose, it was too dangerous for any of them to go around without backup.

“Mind if I tag along?” Steve said, hoping it sounded offhand, as though he were bored rather than desperate.

Matt smirked at him, putting on his jacket and heading to the door. “Sure, Steve,” he said wryly. “Why don’t you ‘tag along’?”

Steve wasn’t sure what Matt’s tone was implying but it wasn’t a flat-out _no_ , so he grabbed his own jacket and followed Matt into the hallway.

The temperature had dropped when they went back outside. Matt seemed to know where he was going, and walked briskly and with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, shoulders up by his ears. Steve wanted to reach over and put an arm around him, pull Matt into the perpetual heat of his super soldier body, but he kept his hands to himself, walking next to Matt in not-uncomfortable silence and surveying their surroundings.

It was completely dark outside by the time they came to an old, run down building sitting next to an empty factory. A chain link fence was surrounding it; they went around to the back and climbed over it. Matt opened one of the windows (“Do they just leave them unlocked?” Steve asked him; “Yup,” was the simple response) and they climbed inside, going up several flights of creaky stairs before Matt stopped in front of one of the doors and shouldered it open.

The apartment was more of a closet: a single room, with an ancient refrigerator and a hotplate in one corner serving as the kitchen, a flat air mattress in another corner, clothes in a pile on the floor, and on one wall, a narrow, doorless entry to a tiny bathroom. The floor was covered in peel-n-stick tiles that were curling upwards and flaking. There was a strange, greasy kind of smell in the room. A massive spider web was suspended between the fridge and the ceiling.

“This is where you were living?” Steve said disbelievingly.

Matt shrugged. “It’s got a roof and a bed.” He kicked halfheartedly at the deflated air mattress. “Kind of.”

“Matt...”

“Here.” He found his dusty, empty suitcase against the wall by the bathroom and wheeled it over to Steve. “Grab the clothes and stuff, they should be clean. These bedsheets can stay, the stuff in the bathroom can stay, I don’t even want to open the fridge, I’m gonna see if no one’s found...” He trailed off as he scooted an old radiator away from the wall, revealing a cobweb covered hole. He brushed all the stringy, sticky threads to the side and pulled out a bulky garbage bag. “Good,” he said to himself. “Hurry, Steve, we gotta go.”

Steve dropped the suitcase onto its back and grabbed handfuls of jeans and sweaters and shirts (several of which he suspected were his) from the pile in the corner. All of Matt’s clothes packed, he walked around the room looking for anything else they could take. “Do you want these books?” he asked, picking up braille editions of the Bible and, to Steve’s surprise and delight, _Jane Eyre_ \- his favorite book, the book Matt had teased him about years ago when they’d first started seeing each other. He flipped to a random page and trailed his fingers over all the raised little bumps.

“Sure,” Matt said, doing his own final walk-around.

Steve packed the books into the suitcase and zipped it shut. He picked it up off the floor. He asked, “You ready?” as Matt was walking over to him and Matt suddenly jerked, going completely still.

“Matt?”

Matt shushed him.

“What is it?”

Matt turned his face towards the window and listened intently, holding his breath.

“Should we call for help?” Steve whispered.

“No, I just... I thought I heard... We need to go.”

“Okay.” Steve picked up the suitcase and went to the door, Matt coming quickly after him.

Out on the street again, Matt kept turning his head over his shoulder.

“Is everything okay?” Steve asked. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Sorry. Making sure no one’s following us.”

“Should I be worried?”

Matt sighed. “No. It’s fine.”

A light rain started up. All was quiet outside except for the wet little tapping on every surface and the drag of suitcase wheels on the dampening pavement.

“You were reading _Jane Eyre_?” Steve asked.

“I was.”

“And?”

“It is... good.”

“Ah! Is it now?”

“It’s _interesting_.” He shoved Steve with his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Steve smiled and shoved him back. “And you were such a jerk to me about it.”

Matt was fighting a smile of his own. He put his head on Steve’s shoulder in quiet surrender, changing the bag to his other hand so that he could slip his left one into Steve’s. They stayed that way the rest of the walk.

Back at the hotel, Matt was standing in his boxers at the bathroom sink drying his face with a towel. Steve came in behind him, quiet and hesitant, and put his hands on Matt's waist. He closed his eyes and brushed his lips over Matt’s shoulder, fingers stroking his skin.

“Hi,” Matt said softly.

“I really missed you when you were gone,” Steve whispered. “At first I thought I had done something wrong, and you didn’t want to see me anymore. And then I was worried something had happened, and there was no way to contact you. I was really scared.”

“Steve...”

“If something happened to you, I don't know if I could take it.”

“You could take it,” Matt said. He pulled Steve’s arms around his midsection, pressing his body back into him and lacing their fingers together. “You’re strong like that.”

“I love you, and I want to put this behind us. I really... I want to forgive you for leaving. I just don’t know how.”

Matt nodded. "Okay," he said quietly.

“But I _am_ trying, Matt." He kissed the back of Matt's neck, the top of his shoulder. Found that he couldn't stop kissing him, the warm, almost velvety surface of Matt's skin entirely too addictive. Matt sighed, reaching up to take Steve by the back of the neck as he put his head to the side, giving Steve greater access to the sweep of his neck and shoulder.

Matt's breathing got heavier. Steve flattened his hand against that firm, ridiculous abdomen to feel it move, came in his kisses to Matt's cheek and nosed at him there until Matt turned his head to let Steve have his mouth.

"I love you," Matt whimpered. The hand curled around Steve's neck moved up into his hair. Steve's hand went lower, cupped Matt between his legs. Matt's hot little gasp was followed by a moan. "Are we taking a break from taking a break?" he asked, wet, gorgeous mouth dragging over Steve's - slow, heady kisses.

"Break's over," Steve said roughly. "Turn around."


	16. Chapter 16

When Matt turned around to face Steve, he was hoisted up onto the bathroom counter. Steve took his face in his hands and kissed him soundly.

“Steve,” Matt sighed. He ran his hands down Steve’s chest and slid them up under his shirt. Steve kissed Matt’s neck and gripped Matt’s thighs where they were wrapped around his waist. He lifted Matt without warning and carried him into the bedroom, dropping him down on the single, massive bed and crawling over him. There was a rapid knocking at the door.

Steve turned his head in that direction and Matt surged up to kiss his jaw, his cheek. “Ignore it,” he whispered, catching Steve’s mouth when Steve turned back to him and moaning into that kiss. He slid his hand up the back of Steve’s shirt and Steve sat up a bit to pull it off over his head, sinking back down into Matt’s arms and pressing their bodies together. That knocking started up again.

“Change of plan, guys.” Sharon’s voice. “Carstensen might be at Hercules tonight.”

“Are you kidding,” Matt huffed.

Steve rolled off of him to the side, rubbing his hands over his face. “Give us a minute,” he called out.

“Come to my room when you’re ready,” Sharon replied. “And hurry up.”

Matt turned onto his side to curl up against Steve, putting his hand on Steve's chest. Steve wrapped an arm around him. "Guess we're needed," Matt said glumly.

"Sorry." Steve kissed the side of his head and mumbled into his hair, "I'll make it up to you."

"You'd better."

They were up and dressed in several minutes, Matt getting up first and laughing as Steve tried to drag him back into bed. Steve led the way down the hall and knocked once on Sharon’s door before opening it. Bucky was sitting with Sharon on one of the two beds, laptop open on his lap.

“We’ve been listening in on the police,” Sharon said. “They’ve got eyes on his apartment. He just left and he’s heading east, towards Hercules.”

“But all of his victims were abducted on a Thursday,” Matt said. “Every single time. Why would he suddenly change his pattern?”

“I know it’s a risk,” Sharon said. “And it’s probably nothing. But if he does show up tonight, there’s chance he won’t be back tomorrow. It might be now or never.”

“What do you think?” Steve asked Matt.

Matt worried at his bottom lip. “He only goes there every now and then, and always on a Thursday. Why would he be there tonight?”

“Do you feel prepared to go tonight?” Sharon asked.

“If you need me to, I can do it. But it would be nice to have an exit strategy.”

“Steve and I will be right outside, and you and Bucky can call it quits at any time. If you don’t feel safe, just let us know.”

Matt nodded.

“Meet downstairs?” Steve asked.

“15 minutes,” Sharon said.

“Cool,” Bucky said.

Matt and Steve went back into their room to get ready.

“He probably won’t show up,” Steve said.

“Yeah... It just seems kind of strange.”

“You’ve got backup. Anything seems off, give us the word and we’re gone. We can always go back tomorrow.”

***

Matt had a weird feeling in his stomach when he and Bucky walked up to Hercules. Earlier that evening, when he and Steve had gone to grab his things, he could’ve sworn someone was watching them - in particular, he could’ve sworn it was the woman from so many weeks ago, the one he’d followed into the building that came crashing down on him, the one who’d kept reappearing when he was following Fisk. It was such a fleeting little moment - she was there and then she wasn’t. It had unsettled him.

“Try not to look so paranoid,” Bucky muttered to him, holding out his arm for Matt to grab onto. Matt almost protested before remembering that, yes, he was blind and would have to make a show of it, and tonight he and Bucky were supposed to be a couple.

“Wow,” Bucky said when they went inside, a blast of warm air hitting them in the face when he opened the door. “This is... something.”

Slow, scratchy music and slow, scratchy voices, sex sounds from one far corner, someone getting punched in the jaw from another. And the smell of stale sweat and body odor, cheap cologne, the faint coppery smell of blood. Bodies dancing. Drinks being poured. Rough laughter. Someone’s hand on Matt’s ass, squeezing down. Bucky shoved the guy hard in the chest and draped his arm around Matt, steering him away.

They walked along the wall, silently observing the place, and stopped at a spot by a cluster of tables.

“Now what?” Matt said.

“We wait. Hope that Carstensen makes an appearance.”

“Should we try to blend in, dance or something? Maybe get drinks?”

“I don't drink.”

“You don't have to actually... Okay. Whatever.”

They stood in silence for a while. Bucky’s left arm was heavy on Matt’s shoulders, but not uncomfortable. He had a great physique, tall and solid and strong like Steve; it wasn't too much of a hardship to be pressed up against him.

Matt started to feel awkward just standing there with his arms by his sides. He reluctantly put his arms around Bucky’s midsection and snuggled up against him like they were actually together.

Bucky snorted.

“What?” Matt said sharply.

“I was just gonna say, if it makes you feel weird you can pretend that I'm Steve.”

“It's fine,” Matt said. “I just want this to be over.”

“We can dance if you want. Might make the time go by faster.”

“I don't care.”

Bucky chuckled, unwrapping his arm from around Matt and taking him by the hand. “Come on, Murdock. Let’s loosen you up a bit.”

“I’m plenty loose.”

“Prove it.”

Bucky took them to the very center of the dance floor and guided Matt's hands around his neck, pulling Matt flush up against him. He slid his hands down the length of Matt’s back, slow and firm, before pushing them up the back of Matt’s shirt and taking him by the waist.

“Verisimilitude,” he said before Matt could say, _What the fuck_.

Even more confusing than Bucky’s hands on his bare skin was the shock of that sudden tingly feeling all over Matt’s body, and the little burst of belly-warmth that followed. Bucky’s hands were big and warm and callused like Steve’s, and just the thought of that comparison sent a new wave of tingles all over his skin. “You been on a lot of missions like this?” he asked, trying to brush those thoughts aside.

“I don’t remember,” Bucky said honestly. “I doubt it, though. No, wait - this one time, years ago, like back in the war, me and Steve did something similar.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“You ever heard of _Der Kreis_?”

“ _Der_ what?”

“ _The Circle_ , this gay magazine based out of Switzerland in the 40s and 50s. They’d have these meetings in Zurich - the Der Kreis-Club - and they had this giant ball for all the members. We got word that Hydra was targeting them, and me and Steve got sent in undercover.”

“How was that?” Matt asked, genuinely curious. Steve hardly ever talked about the war - spoke even less about his history with Bucky. He’d never thought to ask Bucky about it.

When Bucky didn't respond, Matt amended, “We don’t have to talk about it."

“No, it’s fine. It was... We’d never seen anything like it before. We were always having to hide our relationship, sneak around, be careful - like everyone else there. And here we were at this huge _celebration_ where no one was hiding, no one was sneaking around... It was amazing.”

“Huh.”

Matt moved his hands to Bucky’s shoulders and did his best to follow Bucky’s lead. As weird as it was, Matt had to admit: Bucky really knew how to move his body. The people around them had noticed, too; there was a very palpable shift of attention in their vicinity. Matt wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad thing; they were supposed to be blending in, after all.

“Carstensen’s at the bar,” Bucky said suddenly. “He just walked in.”

“Oh, fuck. What’s he doing? Should I go over to him?”

“Sitting. And no, not yet; he’ll know something’s up.”

“So what, we just stand around for an hour?”

“Welcome to working undercover.”

Matt scoffed. “Feels like a waste of time.”

“It’s not. Relax.”

The song faded into something dark and sultry, sung in throaty Norwegian. Bucky pressed his hips into Matt’s, rolling and grinding to the slow beat of the music. That tingly feeling Matt had before was amplified nearly 10-fold.

Not even two hours had passed since that moment he’d shared with Steve at the hotel. Four months without seeing Steve, and then their first attempt at a physical reunion thwarted; Matt was more sexually frustrated than he’d ever been in his life, and Bucky’s body pressed up against his, moving against his, was undeniably exciting in a sort of abstract, unnameable way.

“How’s this compare to Zurich?” Matt asked a bit breathlessly.

Bucky snorted. “Zurich was definitely a lot classier, I have to say. But this is fun, too.”

Matt couldn't be sure what he meant by that. Bucky’s hands were roaming over Matt’s back, sliding up over his shoulder blades and back down to his hips, gripping him firmly. Matt had the strange, fleeting thought of those hands holding him down and in the same moment realized he was definitely getting hard.

He felt like he should be embarrassed, but he'd transcended embarrassment somehow. He had the thought that maybe _Bucky_ should be embarrassed, or weirded out at the least. If he was, he didn't show it; it seemed as though he didn't mind - even when Matt put his nails in Bucky’s shoulder, a sudden, reflexive reaction. Bucky responded by taking Matt more securely by the hips and shifting him around, sliding his thigh between Matt’s legs.

“Oh,” Matt sighed, tipping his head back. He started to tell Bucky to stop, but nothing came out when he tried to speak. He could feel Bucky’s hair on his skin, falling over his neck when Bucky nosed at him there. He could feel Bucky’s breath on his neck and his face, and when Bucky’s mouth found his, hot and open, Matt didn’t think twice about kissing him back, putting his hands in Bucky’s long, stupid hair and riding him hard. It seemed to go on forever.

He moaned into Bucky’s mouth when he came, melting into him. Bucky held him up by the waist and kissed Matt’s slack, open mouth several lingering times.

“He’s looking over here,” Bucky said.

Matt was floating. He was miles above Hercules. He was warm and relaxed and Bucky’s shirt was soft under his hands. “What?” he mumbled, Bucky’s words coming to him letter by letter, strung out and slow.

“Carstensen.”

He sobered almost instantly, jolted out of that dreamlike aftermath at the sound of Carstensen’s name. They were here for Carstensen. This was all pretend. And he had just dry humped Bucky Barnes in the middle of a crowded dance floor at a seedy bar in Oslo, Norway.

Had he cheated on Steve? Shame and horror washed over him at the thought. He couldn’t say for sure what had happened. They were pretending to be into each other - because they were undercover, this was a mission, none of it was real - and then the pretending got serious, or maybe it had just been part of the act. It hadn’t _felt_ like pretending, especially when he came in his pants with Bucky’s tongue in his mouth.

“I should, um... I’ll go to him,” Matt said shakily.

“Okay,” Bucky said simply, calm and collected. Matt wondered if he had been hallucinating - nothing in Bucky’s demeanor indicated that they had done anything.

He was trembling all over when he started to hazily make his way towards Carstensen. _Had_ he cheated on Steve? Bucky didn’t get off - did that make it okay? Would it have been okay if they hadn’t kissed? Every movement of his walking legs made him feel the wet evidence of what had happened, so he couldn’t entertain the idea of having imagined the whole thing. Why had it even happened in the first place? Where had his head been?

Matt’s heart was pounding. He was getting closer to Carstensen. He seriously considered tapping out, not feeling at all prepared anymore, and mentally berated himself for  compromising the mission this way. What if they never got another opportunity like this? It would be entirely his fault.

Carstensen had noticed him. _You can still bow out_ , he thought to himself, but he kept moving forward, trancelike. _Turn around_.

Matt was suddenly leaning up against the bar - Carstensen very much aware of him, looking him up and down. “Hot in here,” Matt said, rolling up his shirt sleeves. He spoke as though he were watching himself from inside of himself, feeling as though he weren’t really there - not at all wanting to really be there. His lips, when they moved to speak, felt useless and kissed. “Is the bartender nearby?”

Carstensen waved the bartender down and spoke to him in Norwegian. “What will you have?” he said in heavily accented English, turning to Matt.

“Whiskey, neat. Thank you.”

“You’re American.”

“I am.”

“Why are you in Oslo?”

“Visiting friends.”

Their drinks were brought over to them. Matt immediately picked his up and took a long swig while Carstensen asked, “Was that one of your friends?”

"Something like that." Hearing someone else talk about Bucky only made it more real. Matt took another swig. “You and me could be friends, too.”

“Could we, now?”

Matt nodded. It felt like he wasn’t even there, and that feeling seemed to be worsening. _I can’t do this_ , he kept repeating to himself, over and over. His body seemed to be going numb.

He downed the last of the whiskey. Carstensen chuckled at him.

Matt put his hands in his pockets. In the left one, he could feel the shape of the little pill - a tranquilizer, strong enough to take down a bear. He just needed to get it in Carstensen’s drink and then he could leave. Bucky would take care of the rest.

He swayed forward a bit, almost stumbling into Carstensen. One huge, calloused hand took him by the forearm to steady him and didn’t let go.

“Do you think I’m an idiot, Mr. Murdock?” Carstensen said gently, almost sweetly, as though he were genuinely asking the question.

Distantly, Matt was aware of the problem. He felt like he should be more alarmed, but the shock was muffled somehow. He pulled his other hand out of his pocket and the action was way too slow and languid. That’s when the shock kicked in.

“What’d’you... what’d’you do t’me?” Matt asked, his speech lazy and slurred.

He’d definitely been drugged.

“Come along, counselor.” Carstensen tried to wrap his arm around Matt’s waist, and Matt fought him off as best as he could, sloppily shoving at him, trying to get some distance, trying to get away. Time seemed to slow and warp. His body was getting heavy. Carstensen wrapped both massive, meaty arms around him and threw Matt over his shoulder.

Matt tried to call out for help, and was suddenly jostled around as Carstensen easily blocked Bucky’s attacks. He fisted his hand in Bucky’s hair and tried to drag him along. They made it out the door; the outside air cold on Matt’s clammy skin. There was the sound of metal shifting and whirring as Bucky freed himself; Carstensen cried out in pain, dropping Matt to the concrete, a long, hard fall.

Hands were on him again - Steve’s voice saying his name and Steve’s hands helping him up. Matt let himself fall into him. He clutched as best as he could at whatever he could grab of him. He thought distantly, longingly, of Steve’s big, warm bed - his bed back in New York, where they both belonged - and Steve’s arms wrapped around him, Steve’s smell all around him, the warmth of the sun on his skin, fingers in his hair, soft mouth, deep voice.

He was being jostled again, and crumbled to the ground as Steve was suddenly swept away from him. Carstensen hoisted him up once more and Matt was entirely helpless; his body wouldn’t move when he ordered it to, wouldn’t respond to any neurological command - his brain sequestered and rendered useless.

The last thing he remembered before going completely unconscious was Steve shouting his name - a rough, anguished sound. Soft mouth, deep voice, New York, warm sun on his skin.


	17. Chapter 17

_Matt answered the door with a bag of frozen peas pressed to his head. He took it away and the side of his forehead was caked with blood._

_“Matt, what-”_

_“Don’t start.”_

_“What? Don’t start what?”_

_“That thing you do where you’re all worried and fussy and overbearing. It’s annoying.”_

_Steve grimaced. “Okay... Sorry I’m_ annoying _to you.”_

_“Stop, I didn’t mean it like that. I just... I don’t like it when you get all, ‘Who did this to you?! Where are they?! You need an ambulance!’ I know you don’t mean to, but it feels like you’re talking down to me, you know?”_

_“No, I don’t know. Am I supposed to not be worried when you get hurt?”_

_“No, but you don’t have to treat me like a child.”_

_Steve opened his mouth to retaliate, and then decided against it. It had already been a shitty day; the last thing he wanted was to get in another fight with his boyfriend before he was even through the front door._

_“Fine,” he sighed. “I’m sorry; I won’t say anything.”_

_“Steve-”_

_“No, it’s okay; you’re right,” Steve said placatingly. “Let’s not get into it right now. Can I get you anything?”_

_Matt looked as though he were going to press the topic, but then seemed to think better of it. “Beer and an Aspirin would be great,” he said, giving Steve a quick kiss and heading back towards the bedroom._

You shouldn’t mix pain meds and alcohol _, Steve started to say. Instead he replied, “On it,” and let himself in, closing the door behind him._

_He knew he could be overbearing. He couldn’t help it. He’d already lost too many loved ones. An even greater fear than something happening to Matt was the fear of driving him away, so Steve swallowed his concerns and went into the kitchen to grab what had been asked for._

_When Steve came into the bedroom after him, beer and Aspirin in hand, Matt was in the bathroom patting a wet towel to his head. He hissed at every little touch of it._

_“That looks like it hurts,” Steve commented, trying to sound uninterested._

_“Got the job done. That’s the important part, right?”_

_Steve made a small sound in reply and sat down on the bed, placing the bottle and the Aspirin on Matt’s beside table. He took off his shoes and stretched out the full length of the mattress, groaning at the ache in his back._

_“How was your day?” Matt asked._

_“Terrible. Yours?”_

_“Terrible? You and Stark get into it again?”_

_“Something like that.”_

_Matt came out into the bedroom and sat down next to Steve. “You wanna talk about it?”_

_“Not really. Here,” Steve said, passing Matt the pill and the bottle and watching resignedly as Matt threw back the Aspirin. He washed it down with one long swig._

_“You’re the best,” Matt said, laying down and cozying up into Steve’s side as Steve wrapped an arm around him. He rested the hand curled around his drink atop Steve’s chest._

_“Am I your table?” Steve asked._

_“Mmhm. The best table.”_

_“Well, as long as I’m the best...”_

_Matt chuckled, turning his face upward to kiss under the hinge of Steve’s jaw. “Stark’s an asshole.”_

_“Yeah, but he’s the asshole who’s funding us.”_

_Matt kissed him again. “Sorry.”_

_“Not your fault.”_

_He shifted around to sit more upright, more on top of Steve rather than snuggled up against him, and Steve let out a little groan._

_“You okay?” Matt asked, getting off him at once._

_“Back’s a little achy.”_

_“Aw, babe. You really did have a rough day, huh?”_

_“Could’ve been worse.”_

_Steve only got backaches when he’d been tense for hours on end. Matt sat up to put his beer on the bedside table and ordered, “Roll over,” straddling Steve’s backside when his boyfriend gratefully complied._

_He dug the heels of his hands into Steve’s lower back and pushed them upwards, slow and firm. Steve moaned underneath him, sighing, “Thank you so much,” when Matt really started to go deep._

_“S’what I’m here for,” Matt replied with a smile._

***

Matt felt heavy and lethargic when he slowly blinked open his eyes, coming drowsily back to consciousness. With that groggy awareness came a deep, dull ache in his head, as though he’d slammed it into pavement. His ears were ringing. He was laying flat on his back.

The voice, when it spoke to him, was muffled and far away sounding. “Mr. Murdock. Welcome back to the land of the living!” Gruff, familiar. A hot, heavy hand on Matt’s forehead. He tried to roll his head away but found that he couldn’t; a thick strap across his hairline was pinning him down, holding him still.

Panic came up in him and he couldn’t act on it. His arms and legs were strapped down. That hand on his forehead was so huge and hot, Matt imagined it would sear into his skin. And then Wilson Fisk took his hand away, and the rush of cool, sterile air helped Matt think a little clearer.

He was aware of several things: this was bad; he was in trouble; they’re weren’t alone in the room. There was second, familiar presence, idling not two feet away. The smell of expensive perfume and real leather. It was the woman he’d been following - or who had been following him; Matt couldn’t be sure anymore.

“If it’s any assurance,” Fisk was saying. “I have not yet decided what to do with you.”

Matt wanted to fire back a retort - something clever and cutting. When he unclenched his teeth, his jaw began to tremble; he clamped down on it again.

“If you had died in the demolition of our old operations headquarters, we wouldn’t be in this predicament... Then again, I wouldn’t have had the chance to look on you one last time.”

Fisk put his hands on either side of Matt’s body and leaned in close. His nose was almost touching Matt’s. His breath was hot on Matt’s face. It lasted too long. Matt resisted the urge to squirm.

“I could kill you now,” Fisk said intimately. Louder, grander, moving away from Matt, he added, “But to what end? Surely, you must have some new purpose. A test subject, perhaps? This new strain of the _super soldier serum_ \- that same chemical compound in your partner, Mr. Rogers - only two of our test subjects have survived: Ms. Kuznetsova here and Mr. Carstensen. Two out of fifty. The numbers are dismal, admittedly, but we’ve since tweaked our formula.”

He walked leisurely away. Matt could hear him opening something - the snaps on a case, it sounded like. "Your tenacity is impressive, Mr. Murdock. You've stayed close to me for months. I like perseverance in a person." Something small and delicate in Fisk’s big hands. A bit of liquid squirting out of a syringe.

Matt’s jaw came open and trembled freely. He didn’t stop himself from squirming around this time, seeking some slack in the straps that bound him, a way out. He found nothing.

“This could be beneficial,” Fisk said softly, as though he were speaking only to himself. “Mr. Rogers having survived, I mean. We had enough of a sample to develop our own serum without him, but having him here for testing wouldn’t do any harm.”

“It will not take long for Rogers to find us,” the woman - Kuznetsova - said. “Accompanied by Barnes, most likely.”

“Barnes is not supposed to be involved until later,” Carstensen said as he walked into the room.

“Yes, well, the timeline has been undeniably affected,” Fisk said to him. “It might be wise to involve Mr. Barnes sooner - unless, Ms. Kuznetsova...”

“I have it,” she said.

“The Winter Soldier activation codes?” Fisk said.

“Yes.”

Matt sucked in a shaky breath. Fisk put down the syringe.

“Notify the others,” he said to Kuznetsova. “We’re moving forward. We need to plan for Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes’ arrival.”

She turned to leave the room and Fisk followed her. Before Fisk was gone, Carstensen said, “What will you do with Murdock?”

He paused and was quiet for a moment, considering. “Do what you like,” he said. “But keep him alive for now.”

The door shut behind him and Matt was left alone with Carstensen.


	18. Chapter 18

“It’s a trap, Steve!”

“You think I don’t know that?”

Steve side stepped Sharon and went into his and Matt’s unused hotel room, beelining for what little luggage he’d brought.

“No, I think you’re being overhasty,” Sharon said, coming into the room behind him.

“Of course it's a trap. They know we've got a tracker on him. If Fisk didn't want us to find him, he'd have destroyed Matt's cell phone. If they're luring us out to him, it means he's still alive.”

The memory of Matt being dragged away from him was on a loop before his mind's eye. He'd run after the car Carstensen had pulled Matt into, broken ribs and all (Carstensen's handiwork, of course), but they had rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

He pulled off his shirt and was wrapping said ribs, too full of adrenaline to be bothered by the pain. The side of his face was bruised and throbbing from a nearly fatal blow, and one wrist was so swollen it was nearly useless.

“You need time to heal,” Sharon said. “And we need to come up with a better strategy than just busting in there guns blazing.”

“Oh, right, because our strategies are foolproof,” he replied. “You signed off on this half-baked plan and now Matt's in danger.”

Bucky came into the room, Fury right on his heels.

“What the hell just happened?” Fury demanded.

“He was talking to Carstensen at the bar,” Bucky explained, stoic, “Fisk must've known we were coming.”

“ _You_ were supposed to have eyes on them,” Steve snapped.

“Everything seemed okay. I didn't know what was happening until Carstensen already had him.” Bucky put his eyes on the floor. “I'm sorry.”

“'Sorry' won't do a damn thing,” Steve said darkly, changing hastily into his stealth gear. He touched a button on his watch and the holographic shield Tony Stark had designed for him glitched into the air, as strong and durable as its vibranium counterpart. He touched the button again and it disappeared.

“You're not going alone,” Sharon said firmly.

“You'll slow me down.” Steve tried to move past her and she fisted her hand in his shirt.

“I am sorry he's in danger,” she said slowly. “But you cannot get too emotional. Be sensible, Steve. You can't do this alone.”

He looked from Sharon to Bucky to Fury, all of their faces so pinched and unhappy.

“We need to go _now_ ," he said reluctantly.

***

Carstensen put his hands on Matt’s legs, over his jeans, ran them slowly up his calves and back down again. “You have a beautiful body,” he said, curling his hands around Matt’s bare feet.

“D-Don’t.”

“Oh?” He took one of those unyielding straps in hand, the one around Matt’s midsection, and pulled it towards him. The bed began to shift downward until it had turned Matt entirely upright. Secured in place as he was, he couldn’t shake off Carstensen’s touch when he took Matt by the jaw.

“You spoke so sweetly to me at the bar,” Carstensen said, sweeping his thumb along Matt’s lower lip. “Open your mouth.”

Matt clenched defiantly down on his jaw.

“Open your mouth or I’ll cut out your tongue. Mm... Better.” He traced the shape of Matt’s lips, slow and firm, before dipping his thumb into his mouth and tracing both rows of his teeth. Matt had never felt so helpless.

Carstensen took his hand away. He went behind Matt and took hold of the bed, tilting it down again. “You know what I’m going to do to you?”

“Lars...”

“Tell me.”

“F-Fisk - Fisk is going down, b-but you don’t have to.”

“Do you want me to say it?”

Matt felt like he was going to be sick. He could hear Carstensen behind him, hefting a massive toolkit up onto a counter.

“Don't,” he said again, his voice a watery, hopeless thing.

The sound of metal on metal, tools being shifted about behind him and laid out on the counter.

“Why are you doing this?’ he asked desperately, his panic impossible to mask. “Why do you do this to people?”

“Why?” Carsten was coming around the bed, standing down by Matt's waist. He put one hand on Matt's immovable knee; the other was curled around something heavy. The serrated edge of a blade touched down to Matt’s thigh. He could feel the metal pressure of all those sharp little teeth. “Because I like it.”

Matt let out a harsh cry just as Carstensen shuddered and collapsed. He could hear the electric crackling of a taser.

“Sh-Sharon?”

Her hands were on him at once, undoing those straps with efficient haste. His torso free, Matt sat upright to help her. His own hands were much less coordinated. She took both of them in hers.

“Are you okay?” she asked breathlessly.

Matt nodded.

“Can you walk?”

“Y-Yeah. Yeah.”

“Come on. We gotta go.”

He followed her out the door and into the hallway, Carstensen left behind in an unconscious heap on the floor.


	19. Chapter 19

Bucky crept soundlessly at Steve's side, gun drawn, senses sharp. They had come to some sort of warehouse, and were moving quietly down a long hallway, dimly illuminated by several yellow, flickering lights. Sharon had broken away from them to look for Matt, and Bucky and Steve were on the hunt for Fisk.

They hadn’t spoken a word to one another since leaving the hotel. Steve regretted how cruel he had been, how accusatory. He wanted to apologize to Bucky for having snapped at him, but he wasn't sure what to say. He hoped there would be time after all this to find the right words, but if not...

Directness, he decided, was probably best.

“Bucky,” he whispered. “I-”

“желание!”

They both dropped down at once into a defensive crouch, looking all around for the source of that feminine voice, that strange, sudden Russian.

“Where'd that come from?” Steve said.

“End of the hallway, sounded like,” Bucky replied, already moving slowly in that direction. Steve followed after him.

The hallway let out into a huge, open room, lit only by the moon filtering in through the dusty upper windows. A woman was standing there alone, reading aloud from a journal.

“ржaвый,” she said. “Семнадцать.”

“No...” Bucky said softly. “No. No.”

“Рассвет. Печь.”

“Don't!” he growled, holding his hands over his ears.

“Bucky?” Steve put his hand on Bucky’s back.

“Get the notebook,” Bucky said through gritted teeth.

Steve ran to her at once, closing distance in seconds and going for the journal. She paused in her speaking and quickly pulled out a gun. Steve hissed as the bullet grazed his thigh, but he kept coming at her and she kicked him hard in the gut, whirling around as he regrouped and kicking him again in the face. Steve stumbled back a few steps, prepared this time for the next attack; he knocked her fist, coming at him quick, down to the side and grabbed her by the arm, pivoting on one foot and throwing her over his shoulder.

The journal fell out of her hand and, when Steve went to grab it, she took him by the legs and pulled him down to the ground. He almost didn't see the knife, but caught her wrist with both hands just as the tip of the blade was coming to stick between his eyes.

Her strength was terrifying. Steve was reminded of fighting Carstensen. He held her off with every bit of his own power, and still that knife was creeping lower and lower until it was barely an inch from his face.

Bucky grabbed her by the hair and yanked her away, dragging her along the floor and throwing her against the wall. She got up on her feet and he pinned her where she stood. That metal arm hit her hard in the face and knocked her out cold.

Bucky went to where Steve was still laying and offered him a hand. “You good?” he asked, helping him up to his feet. He picked up the journal where it had dropped open onto the floor.

“Yeah,” Steve panted. He glanced down at his thigh where the bullet had grazed him. He was already healing. “You?”

“I’m all right.”

“What is that? The notebook?”

“Some really fucked up shit,” Bucky said darkly, making as if to start tearing out the pages. His hand hovered, however, right over it, frozen. He looked down at the journal with a deep frown, for a long moment without a word.

“Bucky?” Steve said, snapping him out of the trance.

He shut the journal in an instant and tucked it into his jacket. “C’mon,” he said. “We've gotta move.”

They both turned at sound of Steve's name, echoing from down the same hallway they'd come from. The sight of Matt and Sharon walking together knocked all the air out of Steve.

“Oh, Matt,” he whispered shakily, going to them in a jog. He took Matt's face in his hands, looking him over. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m - I’m okay,” Matt said. “We've gotta find Fisk.”

“Touching,” echoed one deep, booming voice.

Rows of bright, fluorescent lights flicked on overhead, one after the other, until the whole place was illuminated under sickly light. Fisk stood at a stairs’ landing, an armed Carstensen by his side.

“You’re not getting away this time,” Matt promised. “I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t _allow_ it,” Fisk repeated, feigning a deep contemplation. “Good to know.”

Carstensen turned his gun on them and started firing and Steve's holographic shield was up in an instant. He pulled Matt and Sharon behind him. Bucky put his face behind his metal arm and ran, diving out of the line of fire and rolling behind an overturned table. Carstensen ran out of bullets and Bucky got up on his feet, firing off his own weapon. Fisk had already gone. Carstensen dropped his gun and jumped over the railing, landing hard on his feet.

“He went that way,” Sharon said, taking out her own firearm and running for the stairs. “Cover me!” Steve and Bucky both went for Carstensen at the same time.

“Matt, go after Sharon!” Steve hollered, grunting as he was effortlessly knocked aside.

Bucky leapt onto Carstensen’s back, getting him into a headlock as Steve got back on his feet. Matt had reached the top of the stairs and could hear every one of Steve’s blows landing soundly in Carstensen’s midsection. Bucky was thrown to the ground, Steve seized by the throat.

“Matt, go!” Steve wheezed.

One last hesitation, and then was Matt taking off after Sharon and Fisk. He almost didn’t duck in time to miss the bit of swinging, rusted chain that was flying through the air, aimed at his head. Footsteps were coming quick up the stairs and then that woman - Kuznetsova - was right behind him, coming for him. In one fluid, desperate motion, he picked up the chain where it lay and swung it right into her face.

She stumbled back with a grunt. Matt turned again to go and she grabbed him by the hair, yanking him down onto his back.

The first kick knocked all the air out of him. The second had him spitting out a mouthful of blood. He was bracing for the third when shots rang out from below them.

Bucky fired at her relentlessly, the bullets doing little more than slowing her down. He managed to hit her in the eye before Carstensen knocked him down and she let out a wail, distracted enough by the pain for Matt to scramble back up on his feet and get away.

He could hear Sharon ahead of him, firing her weapon. She was running up another set of stairs, still close to Fisk.

He could hear Steve and Bucky behind him, and Carstensen, and Kuznetsova.

“Fuck,” he panted, coming to that second set of stairs and taking them two at a time, clutching at his ribs.


	20. Chapter 20

“Grab him!” Bucky hollered. “Now!”

Steve did as he was ordered, and followed Bucky’s lead in positioning himself behind Carstensen. They used him as a shield when machine gun fire rained down on them from above, the woman crying out harshly when she realized what she'd done.

They dropped Carstensen’s lifeless body to the ground and ran for her simultaneously as she took off after all the others.

It felt almost like flying backwards in time - Bucky at his side again, the two of them hot in pursuit of some enemy. Running after him up the stairs, Steve indulged in the nostalgia, whimsically imagining for the moment that nothing had changed, that no time had passed - they were simply Steve and Bucky, no Winter Soldier nightmare to blot out all those exhilarating memories.

Physically enhanced as they both were, they were right on her heels in no time. She ran full speed into a door, blasting it off of its hinges, and then they were out on the roof and quickly taking cover like Matt and Sharon already were; a helicopter hovered several feet off the ground, and mounted guns on the front were firing freely. Skidding for safety, Steve could make out Fisk in the pilot’s seat.

The woman didn't get down fast enough and died almost instantly. Fisk let out a howl of frustration, steering the helicopter up and away.

“Steve, he's gonna escape,” Bucky said urgently.

Steve broke into a sprint and leapt high into the air, latching onto the helicopter with both hands.

“Steve!” Matt gasped.

With such impossible strength, Steve dragged it down the ground. Bucky was on it at once, ripping open the door and grabbing Fisk by the throat. He pulled him out of the helicopter and threw him onto his stomach, taking both of Fisk’s arms behind his back and pinning him to the ground.

“We're not done here,” Fisk panted. “And all of you know it. There's not a cage in the world that can hold me.”

“We'll see about that,” Matt said. He watched Steve move in close to Bucky and put handcuffs on Fisk. The two of them hoisted him onto his feet.

“Enjoy your life while you can, Mr. Murdock,” Fisk said darkly.

“Shut up,” Bucky muttered, smacking the back of his head.

Right on cue, a large jet touched down beside the ruined helicopter and Nick Fury stepped out. “We good here?” he hollered, armed agents running out from behind him and taking Fisk in their own hands.

“All clear,” Sharon said. “It's over.”

“It's finally over,” Matt mumbled.

Steve went over to where Matt was standing and held out his hand to him “Come on,” he said. “Let's go home.”

***

When Matt boarded the jet, all the staved off exhaustion fell on him at once. He put his head on Steve's shoulder and promptly passed out.

When he woke up again, they were touching down on the roof of the Tower. Matt was taken down to the medical floor, his midsection X-rayed and wrapped, his cuts and scrapes disinfected and bandaged. Bruce Banner did it all of it for him.

Matt had always liked Bruce, and being with him - in the Tower, in New York - was like one great reassurance of finally being back home. It's over, he kept thinking to himself. It's finally over.

“Broken ribs,” Bruce said. “Some scrapes. That’s all. You'll be back to your old self in no time.”

“God, I hope not,” Matt muttered. He got up on his feet and put his shirt back on, wincing at the aches and twinges.

“Hey.” Bruce put his hand on Matt's shoulder. “You did good work. Everyone's back in one piece. And whatever’s going on with Steve, I'm sure you two will work it out.”

“Thanks,” Matt said, giving him a tight smile.

Steve came into the room then, and Bruce left them alone.

“Everything good?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. How's Sharon, and Bucky?”

“They’re fine. We’re all fine. We got lucky.”

Matt sighed, dropping his forehead to Steve's shoulder.

“You doin’ all right?” Steve asked softly, running his hand up and down Matt's arm.

“I just wanna go home,” Matt muttered.

“I can take you. You ready now?”

“Yeah.” He kissed Steve's neck, the underside of his jaw. “Thank you.”

Steve put his fingers under Matt’s chin and tilted his face upwards, brushing one soft kiss to his lips.

“Are you okay?” Matt asked.

“I will be. Let's get you out of here.” He took Matt by the hand and led him out into the hallway.

They rode the elevator all the way down to the garage. Steve led him over to one of the cars in the far back and opened the door for him.

“Stark’s?” Matt guessed, running his hands over the soft, expensive leather of the seats.

“Oh, I’m sure he won’t mind,” Steve said drily. He opened the driver’s door too suddenly, and with the car so close to the wall, there was the sharp sound of scraping. “Oops.”

Matt laughed hard enough to feel his ribs ache at it. Even as he let out a groan of pain, he kept on laughing. “You’re an asshole, Steve Rogers.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, Murdock.”

“Hush.” Matt reached out to take Steve’s hand in his own again, lacing their fingers together. “I’m gonna tell Tony you messed up his car.”

“He’s got plenty.”

They pulled out of the garage and out onto the street, Matt holding Steve’s hand all the while.

The drive to Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t long. Matt spent the length of it right on the edge of falling asleep, mumbling some small conversation back and forth with Steve.

“Ah, hell,” Steve sighed, slowing down the car.

“Hm?” Matt’s eyes had closed in a light sleep. He opened them again, opened up all his awareness, and muttered, “Fuck everything.”

Matt’s apartment was surrounded - news vans and photographers and reporters all crawling the block, coming up to the car when they rounded the corner and pulled up to the curb.

“Do you wanna stay at the tower?” Steve asked.

“I want to sleep in my own bed.”

“Okay.” Steve peered out at the faces all around them, thankful for the tinted windows. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over Matt’s bandaged knuckles. “They should let up soon.”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed, making no move to get out yet. “Will you come up for a bit?”

“You know I want to.” Steve brought Matt’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. “Call me if you wanna talk,” he said softly. “I might be in debrief for a while.”

“Okay.” Matt put his hand on Steve’s cheek and leaned over to kiss him properly. “Goodnight, my love,” he whispered against Steve’s lips, kissing him one more time.

“I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

Matt put his hood over his head and got out of the car. All the reporters and cameramen had wandered away, and he was able to sneak right up to the back door, unseen.

Locating the hidden spare key in his hallway and unlocking the door was surreal. He'd been away for months now. Mostly, he was thankful that he didn't have any pets.

The place still smelled the same. Everything was still in its place. He could tell that Foggy had been by - presumably to clean out the fridge like he'd mentioned on the phone. Matt needed to see him ASAP - first thing tomorrow, he decided, he'd give him a call.

He sloppily stripped out of his clothes and fell face first into bed, groaning at the sting in his ribs and settling quickly into a somewhat comfortable position. He wished Steve could have stayed with him. As much as everything ached, he really wanted to be held. He wanted Steve to be there to hold him.

Wrapping his arms around a pillow - feeling pathetic - Matt closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

The first person to stop by the next day wasn't Steve, but Foggy. “Rise and shine!” he hollered, waking Matt up by jumping into bed with him.

Matt groaned with a smile he couldn’t stifle. “I never should’ve given you a key,”

“You sure about that?” Foggy said, plopping a takeout bag in front of Matt's face. “I brought breakfast burritos. Come on - up, up, up!”

Matt crawled reluctantly out of bed and followed Foggy into the living room. They sat side by side on the couch and Foggy laid out the food. “ _So_...” he said leadingly.

“What?”

“You've caught the bad guy! What's next? Are you gonna join the Avengers? Become an official crime fighter?”

Matt scoffed. “No way in hell.”

“Aw, why not? I wanna be able to say my best friend is an Avenger!”

“Trying to collect a set?”

“What? Oh, Bucky and Nat? Huh. Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Matt hadn't thought at all about Bucky or what had happened between them, having been so preoccupied with getting drugged and kidnapped. The memory came crashing down on him, heavy and unwelcome - how he'd rubbed himself off on Bucky, how they kissed and kissed and Matt had enjoyed it, how the whole thing was supposedly pretend. He wondered if it was something he needed to tell Foggy. If Foggy heard about it from Bucky first, it might seem as though Matt had been trying to keep it a secret.

“You good?” Foggy asked.

“Something happened in Oslo,” he heard himself saying automatically. “Between me and Bucky.”

Foggy paused in his chewing. He set down his burrito and wiped his mouth. “Define ‘something’.”

“Can I backtrack a bit?”

“By all means.”

“We were undercover at this shitty little bar,” Matt began hesitantly. “And we were supposed to be... a couple, I guess.”

“Okay.”

“So we were dancing, and then, I don’t know, it got... really serious for a minute...”

“‘Serious’?” Foggy prompted.

“Bucky... We... made out, and I got off, and then it was over. And I’m so _confused_ about the whole thing - I don’t even like him, you know that-”

“Yeah, I’m a little confused, too. Walk me through it again: you were dancing, and then what - You kissed him? He kissed you?”

“I don’t-”

“And somewhere up in all that kissing-”

“Foggy-”

“You accidently got your rocks off. Did I get everything?”

Matt’s face was hot with shame. He turned it down to the floor, hands on the back of his neck, and muttered, “I guess so, yeah.”

“I’m not happy about it...” Foggy said slowly. “But I get it, I guess. You're undercover. You're on a mission. Things happen.” He sighed. “Besides, me and Bucky aren't really a thing anymore. Or me and Nat. Or Nat and Bucky.”

“Oh.” Matt was relieved at being let off the hook, but Foggy still seemed unsettled about something other than Matt's confession. “Is everything okay?”

“Not really. We ended it. Super suddenly, like right after Bucky left - maybe your little tryst has got him dick whipped. I'm kidding. It's a joke. Wow, Matt, I've never seen all the color leave your face so quickly.”

“Can we please not start joking about this?” Matt begged, beyond mortified.

Foggy laughed. “I guess I can take pity on you.”

“Thank you,” Matt unwrapped his burrito, not feeling particularly hungry. “How are you, though? Have you been in contact with either of them?”

“Not really. Can we talk about it later?”

“Of course.”

“Cool. Thanks. So, firstly...” Foggy cleared his throat. “What's the work situation? We've been scraping by without you - emphasis on 'scraping' - but I need to know if you're coming back.”

“What? Foggy, of course I'm coming back.”

“Thank God,” Foggy sighed, flopping back onto the couch. “That's gonna make a lot of stuff so much easier.”

“Did you really think I wouldn't want to?”

“I wasn't sure. I wouldn't have held it against you if you didn't.”

“No, I'm ready. First thing tomorrow, I'll be there. Today, if you need me to.”

“Glad to hear it.” Foggy clapped him warmly on the back. “No rush. Caseload isn't too crazy right now. Why don't take some time to yourself? You can start again on Monday."

Matt smiled. “Yeah, that'd be great.”

“Sweet. Now, give me details: what was it like taking down Fisk?!”

***

Another day went by before Steve came to see him. “I'm sorry,” he said, a bag of groceries in each hand, when Matt answered the door to him. “I wanted to come by sooner. There's just a lot going on right now.”

“That's okay," Matt said, sliding his arms around Steve and kissing him warmly. "Foggy's been keeping me company." He stepped aside to let Steve into the apartment.

“How are you feeling?”

“Shitty. But I expected as much.”

“I brought some Advil, Bengay...” Steve set the bags on the counter and pulled out each item as he mentioned it. “Neosporin, clean bandages. Couple groceries, too. Are you hungry?”

“A little bit. Have you eaten yet? I can make us something.”

“I have to head out soon.” His cell phone buzzed mid-sentence, loud and obnoxious where it was resting on Matt’s counter. Steve picked it up irritably and sighed at the little screen. “I'm sorry, I’ve gotta take this.”

“Go ahead.”

Steve went into the bedroom and Matt went about changing the bandage on his hand silence, wondering if he should talk to Steve about what had happened with Bucky. It felt weird to keep it from him, especially now that he'd told Foggy.

He wondered if he was blowing things out of proportion. Foggy made a good point: they had been undercover; things happen sometimes.

He was pulled out of these musings by Steve’s sudden, hesitant, “So I was wondering...”

“Yeah?”

“We still doing this move in together thing?”

“Oh.” Matt had almost forgotten. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since they'd had that discussion. “Um... if you still want to..."

“I do,” Steve said, sitting down on the couch. “I was thinking, though, instead of me just coming in here and intruding on your space... what if we looked for someplace new? Start over together?”

“Where, in Brooklyn?” Matt said with a knowing smile.

“Or Hell’s Kitchen. Manhattan, maybe.”

“Ha!” Matt gathered up the throwaway bandage and hobbled over to the trashcan. “I can't afford Manhattan.”

“I can do first and last month's,” Steve said.

“What about all those months in between?”

“Don't make me say it.”

“What?”

“Babe.”

“ _What_?”

Steve grimaced. “Money isn't an issue.”

“Wow, _highroller_ ,” Matt teased. “Does that make me your trophy boyfriend? Your kept man? Your sugar baby? Should I call you ‘daddy’?”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

Matt laughed. He went over to the couch, lowering himself down to straddle Steve’s thighs. “If you’re paying my rent, I don’t care where we live. It’d be nice to stay close to the office, but I can always commute. Brooklyn’s nice.”

“Whatever you want,” Steve said, taking Matt by the waist.

“Thank you, daddy.”

“Don’t do this.”

“I like it.”

“It’s horrible.”

“I think it’s funny.”

Steve huffed. He ran his hands carefully up and down Matt's sides. “You've lost a lot of weight.”

“Finally got my beach body.”

“Is there anything else you need while I'm here?”

“Hm.” Matt wrapped his arms around Steve's neck, bringing their faces closer together, nudging his nose against Steve’s. “I can't think of anything,” he murmured.

Steve kissed him, a sweet, brief thing.“No?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Well.” Another soft kiss. “You have my number.”

“Are you sure you can't stay for a while?” Matt rolled his hips down into Steve’s, inciting one sharp little breath.

“I've really gotta get back.”

“Are you sure?”

Steve smiled against Matt’s mouth, welcoming Matt’s deeper, wetter kiss with a soft moan.

Now was probably the worst time to mention it, but Matt figured there was never a perfect time for this kind of admission.

“Baby.” He took Steve’s face in his hands, leaning reluctantly out of reach. Deprived of his partner’s mouth, Steve contentedly kissed along Matt’s neck. “Steve, wait, I need to - there’s something I have to tell you.”

“What’s up?”

“Do you remember, in Oslo, when we had to go to the bar? Hercules?”

“I'll never forget.”

“Oh. Right.” Matt slid off of Steve's lap, to the side, one leg still draped over his lap. “Well,” he continued. “When I was there, with Bucky - before Carstensen and all that...”

“Yeah?”

"We kissed. Bucky and me."

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You were undercover, right? Natasha and I have done the same. And Clint, once - that was interesting. It's just work.”

“It was a little more than that,” Matt admitted.

“How much more?”

“I... I got off. I don't think he did, too. But it was... it was weird.” Matt figured he was saying too much, but he didn't want keep any part of it from Steve, and it felt like a huge release to give voice to these thoughts in a way that he couldn't with Foggy. “It was like we weren't undercover anymore, it was really... intense.”

“Huh.”

“I get it if you’re angry.”

“I am not angry,” Steve said slowly. “I just need to... process that for a minute.”

Matt thought suddenly, almost bitterly, about that one night during Bucky’s trial, when Steve had come to him after visiting Bucky - after having kissed Bucky - and begged Matt to stay with him. How could Steve even try to act so coldly to Matt when he’d done the same thing himself not even a year ago? And with the same person, no less.

But this was different, Matt reasoned. Of course it was different. Steve had every right to be cold, and mad.

Matt took his body off of Steve completely, folding into a tight position on the couch about a foot away from him. Steve's silence was unnerving. It was the buzzing of Steve's cell phone that sounded out before either of them.

“I have to go,” Steve said.

“Okay.”

Matt stayed where he was while Steve got up and went to the door. Matt followed him, timid.

"Thank you for coming by," Matt said.

"Yeah. No problem."

"We'll... talk some more?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

They idled at the door. Steve curled his hand around the back of Matt's neck, kissed his forehead. "Get some rest," he said.

"You too."

Matt closed the door behind him.


	22. Chapter 22

Steve was suddenly whisked off the grid for a highly confidential assignment. The only notice Matt received was a short voice mail: “Hey, they need me overseas for a while. Not sure when I'll be back, and I can't have any outside contact. So, um. I leave tomorrow. Let me know if you want to... I don't know. Get dinner, or something.”

Nelson & Murdock had taken on another high profile case - this time with a politician accused of working with Fisk.Matt had been working all through the night, and didn't get Steve’s voicemail until the following afternoon.

He threw himself into work and they won the case, making national news again. The media circus was back in full swing: reporters camping out by the office, both of their apartments, even at the hospital where Claire worked after a picture of her and Matt having dinner became a new source of speculation - “Murdock and Rogers No More?!” one headline read. Some tabloid-y, TMZ-like website. It bothered Matt more than he felt like it should've, enough to make him contact Fury and ask if he could pass along a message to Steve. The request was met with a brusque, “Captain Rogers is in deep cover. Any attempt to reach out to him would put your safety and the Captain's in jeopardy.”

Weeks had gone by, and Matt hadn't spoken to Steve since that awkward confession of what had happened in Oslo. He desperately wanted to clear the air and get the two of them back on track.

Work was a great distraction from his worrying - work and “work” both. But pounding bad guys to a pulp only helped so much, and Matt was feeling more and more stressed about all things Steve-related until he was having a 3am dinner with Foggy at the office one night.

“Me and Nat got drinks,” Foggy was saying. “She says Steve's been all moody since he got back.”

“I wouldn't know,” Matt said glumly. “They shipped him overseas before he’d even been home for a fucking week.”

“Wait. What?”

“He's been gone for almost a month now,” Matt clarified. “Some secret assignment. I told you about it.”

“Natasha says he's been back since Sunday... Oh. Oh, fuck. He didn't tell you?”

“Nope.” Matt didn't even bother trying to hide the hurt. Foggy would see right through it.

“He must be really busy,” Foggy said quickly. “Or they're keeping him under wraps for some reason. Security issue, maybe.”

“Yeah,” Matt weakly agreed. “You're probably right.” He knew it wasn't true. Steve was back, and he hadn't bothered to reach out to Matt because he didn't want to see him. Not right now, at least, Matt thought, trying hard to console himself. If Steve needed his space, Matt would give it to him.

He could understand why Steve would want time apart. It wasn't just about Bucky - it was everything: the fighting, the demands, Matt leaving without a trace, all of the things they desperately needed to discuss if there was any chance of salvaging their relationship. And if they couldn’t find the time to sort out their shit, well... Matt hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

In the meantime, there was one unresolved issue he could take care of on his own.

***

Matt still had Bucky’s contact information from having been his attorney all that time ago. It was late at night when he called; he figured Bucky would still be awake.

“Barnes,” Bucky answered. His voice was rough and low, as though he’d just been sleeping. _Great_.

“We need to talk about Oslo,” Matt said.

“Matt?” Bucky guessed around a yawn.

“It’s me, yeah. Sorry.”

He could hear Bucky shifting around, sighing, and then there was stillness.

“Bucky?” he prompted.

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Where are you?”

“Stark Tower.”

“I’ll get a taxi.”

“I can meet you halfway.”

Matt rattled off the address of a coffee shop with some strange, fluttery feeling in his stomach. Something like anticipation, but not quite anticipation. Anxiety, he decided, grabbing his jacket and locking the front door behind him.

When he arrived at the agreed upon meeting place, he wished he’d taken more time to get there. He was halfway through his first cup of coffee, with half the courage and conviction he’d had less than an hour ago, when the sound of door bells jingling and a heavy footfall announced Bucky’s slow arrival. Matt regretted the phone call at once.

He downed the last of his coffee and was considering calling the whole thing off when Bucky came to the table.

“Hey,” Bucky said. Matt could hear the soft rustle of a jean jacket as Bucky took it off, draping it over the chair across from Matt’s before taking a seat.

“Thanks for coming,” Matt said stiffly, pulling himself together. “Sorry to wake you up."

“I don’t sleep that great anyway.”

It was a strange thing to notice, but Matt suddenly realized how good Bucky smelled. Clean and dark, almost smoky. Like leather and fire. Late nights. He clamped down on the thought just as quickly as it took shape.

“How are you?” Bucky asked him.

“Not good.” Matt said honestly. “You?”

“I’ve been better.”

“How is... everyone?” Matt asked, trying not to imply, _Is Steve okay?_ and failing miserably.

“He's holding up,” Bucky replied. “Doesn't say a lot.”

“We haven’t... me and Steve, talked in a while.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

Matt cleared his throat. “So.”

“So.”

“About what happened in Oslo-”

“You mean when we were at Hercules.”

He started a bit, surprised at Bucky’s frankness. Maybe this didn't have to be such an awkward conversation, if only Matt could manage the same offhandedness. “Yeah. That’s what I mean.”

“Not a whole lot to talk about. We were undercover.”

“That seemed a bit inappropriate for just being undercover,” Matt said snippily.

“Are you mad that we kissed?”

Matt almost scoffed in reply. He could still remember so vividly - having gone over it again and again, trying to somehow justify everything or explain it all away - he could remember Bucky slotting his leg between Matt’s and kissing Matt’s mouth hot and open and dirty, kissing him still even after Matt had gotten off riding him, bringing Matt down from it gentle and sweet. And afterwards - he remembered - he could have sworn he felt Bucky - Bucky’s erection - pressing against Matt’s sated body, impossible to miss.

“It was more than kissing,” he replied self-consciously. “Look: it's probably nothing, but the whole thing’s been fucking with my head and fucking up my relationship - if I’m even still in a relationship, I honestly don’t know anymore - and I would really appreciate it if you could give me a little closure.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Well... you could start by assuring me there's nothing going on here.” He gestured back and forth between them. “I know you don't want to... fuck me,” he said, blushing at his bluntness. “It'd still be great to hear you say it.”

“What if I did?”

“Excuse me?”

Bucky took a deep breath. “Want to fuck you. What if I did? What then?”

“There... there is no ‘what then.’ We're not doing ‘what then’.”

“You said you've been thinking about me.” When Matt didn't respond, he continued, “I... think about you a lot, Matt.”

Matt wasn't sure exactly what he'd wanted to get out of this meeting, but he never could've imagined this sudden turn.

“I'm sorry.” Bucky sighed, chair creaking as he leaned back in it. “I know that you and Steve are... I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I think I should go. I... I'm sorry you came all the way out here. I don't... Sorry.”

Matt got up on his feet, chair clattering out of the way. He threw too many wrinkled bills onto the table and left without another word.

Outside, a man was standing by the curb with a cigarette in his mouth.

“Can I bum one of those?” Matt asked.

“Sure.” He took out the pack, passed a cigarette to Matt, and offered him a lighter.

Matt hadn't smoked since his teenage years, but this seemed like the perfect time to do something destructive. When he couldn't flick on the lighter - his hands suddenly shaking - the man stepped in and did it for him. “Rough night?” he asked.

Matt took a long, telling drag, blowing the smoke to the sky. “You could say that.”

They stood for a while in silence, bringing their cigarettes gradually down to the filter. The man took out a second, offered another to Matt.

“Thanks,” Matt said, accepting it gratefully.

“Take it easy, brother.” He walked off into the night and Matt was left alone.

“Since when are you a smoker?” Bucky asked.

Matt turned around quick to get his front facing Bucky. It was a fighting tactic: don't give your back to your opponent.

“Since right now,” he replied.

Bucky wasn't harmless anymore. Bucky was a threat to Matt’s sanity.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, one sheepish foot toeing at the pavement. “I don't want you to think... I wasn't preying on you. In Oslo. What happened just sort of... happened.”

“You don't have to apologize. And it's not entirely... your fault.” Matt winced at the words, remembering how riled up he'd been in Oslo, how badly he'd wanted to feel Bucky pressed up against him, how much he'd liked it. “It's not like I tried to stop you,” he found himself saying. “It's not like I didn't... want you to.”

Something shifted in Bucky. His posture changed.

“I think about it a lot,” Matt continued, the words spilling out of him. He was tired of holding them in. “I think about if I hadn't... if we hadn't stopped. I would have wanted to keep going.”

Tired of keeping himself in such disciplined check, Matt allowed a mental little, _Fuck it_ , and gave in to the strange, dangerous thrill of being alone with Bucky - and it _was_ thrilling. Exciting and new, like the one time he'd tried cocaine in college. He'd been shaky and uncertain, but thrilled by the prospect of doing something he knew he wasn't supposed to. That's what Bucky was like to him now.

“So, where does that leave us?” Bucky asked softly.

Matt snorted. “Well, I've just told my maybe-ex-boyfriend’s best friend - and my best friend's ex-boyfriend - that I liked it when he kissed me.”

“Foggy was never my boyfriend,” Bucky said. “We never called it that.”

“What do you call it, then?”

“Lovers, I guess.”

“You really are from a whole ‘nother era,” Matt commented, trying hard not to find Bucky charming.

“In all fairness,” Bucky said. “I said the same thing to you.”

“What?”

“That I liked kissing you. That I would do it again.”

“You never said that.”

“I didn't?” Bucky took a step closer, and then another, and another, until he had closed all the distance between them. “I would do it again. Matt.” His breath, when he spoke, was warm on Matt's face, and not unpleasant. There wasn't enough space between them for Matt to bring the cigarette back to his mouth, not without touching Bucky; he flicked it aside, and cocked his head like he knew exactly what he was about, like having Bucky this close to him wasn't shocking and exciting and terrifying.

“What are you doing?” Matt asked softly.

“I don’t know.”

They seemed to be moving in sync, bringing their faces steadily closer and closer until they came to that soft, careful kiss, so completely unlike what had happened in Oslo.

They pulled away after a moment, but only long enough for Matt to wrap his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck and kiss him again - warmer, surer. When Bucky put his hands on Matt’s waist and touched his tongue to Matt’s lip, it was instinctual for Matt to open his mouth up to him and wrap his arms around Bucky’s neck.

That kiss had quickly gone from tentative, exploratory, to the two of them making out right there on the curb. Bucky’s hands slid firmly up and down Matt’s sides; the left one felt so different from the right. Matt tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair.

A speeding car coming quick around the curb startled them out of it. They stood still and shocked, panting into each other’s space.

“Come home with me,” Matt heard himself saying, his voice all wrecked and breathless - and after just one kiss. He took that metal hand in both of his own, kissed the unyielding palm of it. “Come home with me,” he said again, desperate. The thought of going back alone was unbearable. He sucked one of those hard, unnatural fingers into his mouth, surprised at himself, privately pleased with his boldness.

"Okay," Bucky said, sounding the way Matt felt. "Okay."


	23. Chapter 23

**ONE YEAR LATER**

Matt woke up dressed in his jeans and jacket. His shoes were still on. There was a blanket draped over him.

He'd gone to Bucky’s right after work - and promptly crashed on his bed, apparently. Sitting up slowly, yawning, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and reached around for Bucky’s nightstand, taking up his glasses and putting them back on his face.

Matt had been exhausted - he remembered stepping over Bucky’s threshold and kissing him - such slow, sleepy kisses they had been, Matt remembered half-wondering if he'd been dreaming. He remembered Bucky leading him to the bedroom, where Matt had lain down at once and pulled Bucky on top of him. He remembered Bucky kissing his neck, murmuring quiet, throwaway words into Matt’s skin, and he must’ve fallen asleep then; the memory dropped off there. He smiled at it all and then, catching himself smiling, sobered at once and got to his feet, walking into the living room where Bucky was seated on the couch.

“Hey,” Bucky said. Matt could hear him fingering the deckled edge of a book, dog-earring a page. _Pride and Prejudice_ , Matt deduced; Bucky had mentioned he'd been reading it a few days before.

Matt stifled a yawn. “How long was I out?”

“Couple hours.”

“ _Hours_? What time is it?”

“Almost 3:00AM.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Long day?”

“Too long,” Matt grumbled. He went into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee, moving with such ease through the apartment it was as though he lived there himself.

“You heading out?” Bucky asked.

“I’ve got work to do. Not just in the office, but...” He made a sloppy, vague gesture that somehow indicted _crime fighting_.

“You could take a night off, you know,” Bucky said, coming into the kitchen.

“Oh yeah? What for?”

Bucky came up behind him. Matt could feel all the heat of him. He put his hands on Matt’s hips; his breath was warm on the back of Matt’s neck. “Well... there are other activities,” he said innocently, nosing into Matt’s hair.

Matt’s voice sounded breathy to his own ears when he asked, “What kind of activities?” He couldn't have cared less; Bucky’s voice so close and deep, Bucky’s hands moving up under his shirt - already Matt’s temperature was climbing, already he was eager for it.

He put his hand over one of Bucky’s and guided it down between his legs, sighing when Bucky began to stroke him through his pants.

“I really should go,” Matt whispered, even as he reached up behind himself, threading his fingers through Bucky’s long hair. He turned his head to side, catching Bucky’s mouth in a sound kiss.

“I'll give you a ride,” Bucky offered.

“Now there's an idea.”

He kissed Bucky’s smiling mouth once more, and then again. Suddenly, kissing Bucky was all he wanted to do.

He took his hands off of him, took his mouth away from him, only to return these things in passion tenfold, turning around in Bucky’s arms to press all the length of their bodies together and groping greedily at Bucky’s broad shoulders, his hard arms, all the while kissing him deeply. He could have kissed Bucky for hours.

And when there was a knocking at the door, they completely ignored it. Actively ignored it. He came up on his toes and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck, unrelenting in his affections. One of Matt’s legs was pulled up from under the thigh to wrap around that lean waist, and in this new position, he could feel without question the hot, hardening length of Bucky’s cock. He wanted all of it in him at once.

That knocking started up again, more of a pounding this time and accompanied by Natasha Romanov’s voice: “Barnes, I know you're home.”

They froze at the same time, but it still took a moment for Matt to get his hands off of him. Even then, they stayed close, equally lost and shocked: Matt put his hands to Bucky’s chest in what should've been a push; Bucky held him by the waist.

“Barnes,” Romanov said again. “I'm breaking down your door.”

And that was the perfect impetus. Matt was out of that frozen embrace and by the window in seconds, jolted into action by the fear of being seen here. He didn't doubt she was well aware of what was happening, but knowing a thing and having it confirmed are very different from one another, and Matt still wasn't sure how he himself felt about this development between them.

They’d become an on-and-off kind of thing (currently _on_ , and on for weeks now). It was Matt’s second biggest secret. He couldn't say what it was about Bucky that made him keep going back - even after he'd say to him, “This is the last time,” he'd keep going back. _I must be unnaturally wicked_ , he would think to himself.  _Heartless, even._

He hardly dared think on Steve - it drove him to hard drinking.

He'd opened the window and slipped outside, and heard Bucky close it behind him, just as Romanov’s hard knocking began again. “Jeez, hold on!” Bucky was saying. Matt's feet hit the ground.

He was panting and sweating, his heart pounding so hard he feared for it. “Fuck,” he whispered feverishly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

They'd both been so incredibly careful. Meticulous, even.

“Who was here?” he could hear Romanov asking.

“What do you need, Natasha?” Bucky responded.

“Don't deflect.”

Abandoning self-preservation, Matt wished desperately for Steve. He wished he could put his arms around Steve and never let him go. If Matt could get to him first, before Romanov, maybe he could somehow soften the blow.

He'd always known it was coming. He hadn't talked to Steve in over a year - he knew Bucky and Steve hardly spoke anymore - and he’d always known Steve would somehow find out. He felt like he was going to be sick.

He could hear Romanov saying, “Why was I never enough for you?”

Bucky sighed. “That's not true.”

“That was not an easy question for me, and I don't deserve an easy answer.” When Bucky didn't respond, she said, “Steve’s never going to forgive you.”

“No,” Bucky agreed.

“Do you care?”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know? James, are you okay?”

“I'm not... who I was. I can't go back to being him.”

“No one's asking you to.”

Matt was jolted out of his eavesdropping when he suddenly slammed into someone.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, sidestepping them quickly.

“You were moving so fast. I tried saying your name.”

It was Steve.

Of course it was Steve. His big, warm, compassionate love. The man of Matt's dreams.

“Oh,” Matt said dumbly.

“You all right?”

No, not Steve, not at all - it was Bruce.


	24. Chapter 24

“Sorry,” Matt said again, hurrying away.

“Matt. Matt!”

Against his better judgment, Matt stopped and turned.

“Hey.” Bruce huffed an uncomfortable little laugh. “It's been a while. You okay?”

“Great,” Matt said curtly. He hated to be so snippy. He wanted to get away quick.

“Where you headed?” Bruce asked.

Matt hadn't really thought about it. “Home, I guess.”

“I'll drive you.”

“Bit out of the way if you're heading to the Tower.”

“I don't mind.”

Much as he wanted to, longing for the cool solitude of his empty apartment, Matt didn't have the mental energy to protest. “Sure,” he huffed.

They walked in silence for several blocks, coming to Bruce's massive SUV.

“Hell’s Kitchen?” Bruce said, going over to the driver's side of the car.

Matt appreciated the fact that Bruce didn't try to get the door for him. “That's right,” he said, climbing into the passenger's side.

Bruce started the car and pulled out onto the street. “How are you? It's been a while.”

“Steve and I aren't really together anymore. No reason for me to keep hanging around.”

“I'm sorry to hear it,” Bruce said, genuine and concerned. “I miss having you around. I think you were really good for him. How's work?”

Matt leaned his head up against his seat belt, suddenly exhausted and sad. All the adrenaline had gone out of him. He just wanted to be alone. “Work is work,” he mumbled, closing his eyes.

“Congratulations on the Davis case. I saw it on the news a while back. Business must be booming.”

“Thank you. We're doing all right.”

“You seem really unhappy, Matt.”

Matt gave him a tight smile. _You don't wanna get into all of that_ , he thought bitterly. “What are you doing out so late, Bruce?”

“I could ask you the same.”

Matt didn't reply. Fear and shame bloomed deep in his gut.

“Tony and I have been working back at the Tower,” Bruce said. “Modifying Steve's shield, actually. I ran out to get us some snacks. Needed the fresh air.”

“What's wrong with the shield?” Matt asked, feigning mild curiosity. He never talked to anyone about Steve, and was desperate for any small word, any piece of information touching the Captain: what he'd had for breakfast, what he wore that day, how he was doing. Scripted interviews and news stories weren't enough.

He could never ask Bucky about him.

“The shield’s fine,” Bruce said. “Right now it's only stationary - the holographic one. He can only wear it on his arm. He's been toting around the original while we work on a way to make the copy detachable. You know, so he can throw it and all that. Give him some options.”

“Stark can do that?”

“Possibly. The problem isn't getting it airborne. It's preserving the strength and solidity of the hologram.”

Matt listened intently to every detail, and before long they had arrived in Hell’s Kitchen.

“What's the address?” Bruce asked.

“I can get out right here.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it's not far.”

Bruce pulled up to the curb and Matt opened the door. It had started raining outside. The water was cold and sharp.

“Thank you, Bruce.”

“Anytime. Get some rest.”

He waited on the sidewalk for Bruce’s car to pull away before he started walking. Alone again with his thoughts, dread crept up in Matt, licking at the back of his throat, tasting of bile. He needed to get in touch with Bucky ASAP.

He needed to get his life back together.


	25. Chapter 25

Bucky had just stepped into the breakroom at the Tower and set his gym bag down when his phone started buzzing. He was coming from a hard workout in the training room, another sparring session with Clint.

He took out his phone, expecting SHIELD personnel - someone requesting his presence at another long meeting. Maybe even Clint. Certainly not Matt Murdock.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asked without preamble. They very rarely spoke during the day. At once, he assumed the worst.

“Yes?” Matt answered quizzically. He sounded suspicious when he asked, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You never call me when you’re at work.”

“Oh.” Matt cleared his throat. “What did Natasha say? The other night.”

“You weren't listening in?”

“Not really.”

Bucky didn’t feel like telling him. Their talk had been long and painful. Besides, Matt wouldn’t care. As long as it had nothing to do with the secret of them getting out, Matt wouldn’t care.

“Nothing to worry about,” Bucky said.

Matt was quiet for a moment, as though deciding whether or not to push for more information. Finally he said, “What are you doing tonight?”

Bucky took the phone away from his ear. He sighed heavily. “Working,” he told Matt after a moment, and then, “I can come over later.”

“I’ll leave the key-”

“Under the doormat, yeah.”

“Okay.”

“You doing all right, Matt?” Bucky asked, because he wished Matt would say it back to him. He already knew Matt’s answer. Both of them were in horrible shape.

He just sometimes wished Matt was actually interested in him. But Bucky knew that wasn't what he'd signed up for.

There was a long pause, and then a sigh on Matt’s end. “No,” Matt said.

“You wanna talk?”

“No. I just want you to be here.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say to that. _No you don’t,_ came to mind, and also, _Me too._

“Tonight, then?” Matt said, when Bucky had been quiet for too long.

“Yes.”

“All right.” Matt hung up, and Bucky stared at the empty screen on his phone for nearly a full minute. It was then that he realized Steve had been standing behind him in the doorway.

“I don't have to tell you about me and Matt,” he said simply.

“You don’t.”

“You’ve known for a while, I take it.”

“I have.” Steve’s voice was neutral, unfeeling. Unnerving. He walked fully into the breakroom, going to the refrigerator and not looking at Bucky. He set about silently making a sandwich, his posture entirely too relaxed. It put Bucky on edge.

They never talked anymore. They were never alone together outside of a mission. Bucky missed him.

“He's still in love with you,” Bucky said.

“He's got a funny way of showing it.”

“You were avoiding him. He felt like you were shutting him out.”

Steve briefly closed his eyes: the first small sign of any emotion. “You're trying to make it sound okay, and it's really, really not.”

“I know it's not okay.”

“You knew how I felt... feel about him.”

“I do. I'm sorry.”

Steve huffed. “Oh, good, I'm glad you're sorry. That makes it a lot better.”

“Don't be an ass.”

“You don't get to tell me what to do right now.” He finally looked at Bucky then, and the naked, open hurt in his eyes was enough to make Bucky’s blood run cold. “Can I ask why?” he said.

“Why what?”

“Why you did it. Why you kept fucking my boyfriend.”

“I could try to explain, but you're not gonna get it.”

“Try me.”

 _Please don’t make me,_ Bucky wanted to say. He walked slowly to one of the tables and leaned back against it, trying to buy himself some time. He’d been avoiding his own feelings about Matt, and their relationship, for so long. It was like ripping up a scab, delving into himself this way.

“I’d gotten so used to not wanting anything,” he began. “It wasn’t allowed. And I came back, and I wanted you. And that wasn’t gonna happen. I wanted Foggy, and Natasha. But I was only gonna end up hurting them - we all knew it, but they weren’t gonna do anything about it.” He took a deep breath. “Matt doesn’t love me; I’m just a substitute. If something happened to me, he’d get over it. After everything I did, I guess that’s what I deserve.”

He’d given this speech to the floor, and when he looked up at Steve again, the plain horror on his face was enough to make Bucky wince. “I don't expect you to forgive me,” he said, putting his eyes on the ground again.

“You're my best friend, Buck.”

“Yeah, I’m doin’ just great at that, aren’t I?” Bucky hated this sudden turn. This wasn’t about him and his woes. “I knew you’d be hurt. I tried not to think about it.”

“Are you gonna go to him tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

“I really... wish you wouldn’t.”

“Then I won’t.”

Steve took a deep breath. “I want you and me to be okay. But I'm gonna need some time.”

“Steve!” Bucky huffed. “Why the hell would you wanna be friends with me?”

“Because you're a good man, and I care about you.”

“You shouldn't.” Bucky picked up his gym bag and headed for the door. Steve took him by the arm.

“Buck,” he said softly. “You deserve better. You do.”

"Should be sayin' that to you."

Bucky looked him in the eyes. Really looked at him. He hadn't looked at Steve like this in almost a year.

Without thinking about it, he surged forward and kissed him. Took Steve by the back of the neck, pushed him up against the wall. Fisted both hands in his t-shirt and kissed him hard, over and over, while Steve stood there passive.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, curling his hands around Bucky’s wrists.

Bucky broke away panting. Shocked at himself. He picked up his gym bag again and left without looking back.


	26. Chapter 26

Steve was frozen in place. He stared at the empty doorway. People passed in the hall - insulated, unaware, each living their own, hopefully far less complicated lives.

Bucky had kissed him. Why had he done that? Steve could still feel him; his shirt was still wrinkled from Bucky’s hands; his mouth still ached from Bucky’s mouth, his hard, fast kisses. He could feel Bucky’s teeth in his lip where Bucky had bitten him. Why had that happened?

Steve didn’t know what to feel. He didn’t want to keep thinking about it.

Matt was his most pressing problem.

Bucky - and everything apparently still unresolved there - would have to wait.

But why had he done it?

“Gosh,” Steve sighed, unsticking himself from the wall. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to right it again, and touched his fingers to his lips, rubbed his hand over his mouth.

He’d known about Matt and Bucky for several months. Bucky had been withdrawing more and more, until he was hardly even _looking_ at Steve - much less conversing with him. Steve had known something was off, but he couldn’t have said what it was, not until he’d driven by Bucky’s apartment one night and saw Matt walking into the building.

Curious as hell, he’d parked down the street and followed him inside.

He’d turned around and left when he got to Bucky’s door. The sounds of them both, grunting and sighing and knocking into furniture, had stayed with Steve all week. He’d asked for an assignment out-of-state and ended up in Asgard for two months, helping Thor sort out his own issues and responsibilities.

The time away had been restorative. Waking up every morning in a bed fit for royalty, meditating in the warm, open air on a private terrace, and spending time with Thor, whose company he’d missed and often wished for - it was a much needed respite. But then he’d had to come back.

And then Bucky had kissed him.

Steve was almost angry about it. The last thing he’d needed was that savage yank at his heartstrings, and yet another complication to tangle into this mess. At this rate, he and Bucky would look their ages by the time they finally got their shit sorted.

He missed Matt desperately, and had resolved to forget about him. It didn’t help much, though, when every night in his dreams Matt would fall into his arms. Everywhere he looked, he saw Matt. Matt was always all around him. Steve would walk around his apartment and there Matt would be, like a ghost, haunting every inch of it: the chair he’d fallen asleep on; the wine glasses he’d touched his gorgeous mouth to; the shower he’d washed Steve’s hair in. As far as break-ups went (although, Steve recalled, rolling his eyes, they still hadn’t officially broken up), this one had to rank in the Top Ten Most Persisting.

He felt weak and pathetic for being so utterly infatuated, so quite in love. And with a man who had burned him so many times - was burning him still, callously and repeatedly.

 _He’s still in love with you_ , Bucky had said to him. The piteous, besotted hope those words had conjured in Steve, the sad yearning - he’d wanted nothing more in that moment than to feel Matt’s soft stubble on his palm, to kiss the cleft in that handsome chin.

He made up his mind, straightened out his shirt, and went out of the room and hazily on with his day, both dreading and eagerly awaiting the coming evening.

***

Matt was completely sloshed. He'd been steadily drinking since he'd come home, and was showing no signs of letting up anytime soon.

At least when he was chasing Fisk, he had something to distract him from himself.

How pathetic.

He’d have to try to sober up before Bucky came over. Bucky’s lush, generous mouth, his caring hands, the weight of his hard, heavy body pressing down on Matt - if he could have these things right now, Matt wouldn’t feel so terrible. And Bucky wouldn’t give them to him if he arrived and Matt was shitfaced. He’d done as much several weeks ago, when Matt had showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night, slurring his words and sloppily groping at an unyielding Bucky; he’d been given a glass of water and left alone in Bucky’s bedroom.

Matt got up off the couch, contemplating a cup of coffee. Of course, once Bucky was gone again, all these dark feelings would return with a vengeance.

He wanted to disappear. He hadn't been so deeply depressed in years.

Someone knocked at the door. Foggy, he assumed, since it was still so early in the evening. He didn't go to answer it.

Perhaps he'd come by to tell Matt what an utter piece of shit he was, what a horrible friend. No doubt Romanov had reached him by now. Hell, Bucky had probably gone to him himself. Why had Matt even tried to keep it from him? He went into the kitchen to pour himself another drink.

“Matt?” his visitor said, voice considerately pitched low for the neighbors’ sakes, knowing Matt would still be able to hear.

Matt didn’t believe it was happening. Not even after he had gone to the door and opened it wide.

“Steve.”

“Can I come in?”

Matt stepped to the side, closing the door and leaning back up against it once Steve was well over the threshold. The heady rush of the moment, combined with the drinking, was making his head spin. He tried to stand on his own and had to fall back on the door. He wished he was sober.

Steve was quiet. Observing him. “I was hoping we could talk,” he said. “But now might not be a good time.”

“No!” Matt forced himself onto his feet. “No, I’ll just - I’ll put on some coffee, I'm fine.”

“I can come back tomorrow-”

“Please don't go!”

“O-Okay.”

They stood facing one another for a long moment, neither of them sure what next to do.

Matt cleared his throat. “Would you like to sit down?” he offered, trying hard to be a gentleman. “Can I get you anything?”

“Thank you. And, no. Thank you. I won’t take up too much of your time.”

Steve sat down on the couch.

 _God_ , how Matt was in love with him.

He went to sit down beside him and stumbled, almost falling over the coffee table.

“You okay?” Steve asked, reaching a hand out as if to help him, and then letting it hover there. “Do you need anything? Water?”

Matt dropped down onto the couch. “I think I should just lay down,” he said mournfully, knowing he really needed it. He didn’t want to lay down. He wanted to sit up with Steve, and talk, and be clear-headed and coherent. He groaned in frustration with himself and, without thinking, dropped his forehead to Steve’s shoulder - something he’d done a hundred times in the past.

Matt froze with the sudden shock of it, realizing that things were, in fact, very different, that Steve might not want Matt to touch him. He started to lean back and apologize when Steve reached over to curl his arm around him. Matt put his head on Steve’s chest at once, wrapping his arms around Steve’s solid middle. It wasn’t hard to doze off like this, and he woke up less than an hour later, groggy and drunk.

Steve gently got to his feet and led Matt to the bedroom, readjusting the unmade covers while Matt stood idly by.

“Stay,” Matt pleaded. He came up behind Steve and took him weakly by the waist, hardly touching him at all. Strange to handle him so gingerly now, Matt mused, after having crashed in his arms only a moment ago. This was different, though - asking anything of Steve was different. “Please stay,” he begged again, bracing himself for a _no_.

Steve didn’t say a word. He pulled back the blankets for Matt to climb underneath them. Rejected, dejected, Matt crawled into bed and gave his back to Steve. The last thing he expected was for to Steve to toe off his shoes and slip under the covers behind him.


	27. Chapter 27

Matt woke up and Steve was already awake. They'd shifted in the night; Matt had turned around in his sleep to face him. One leg was draped over Steve's thigh and his hand rested on Steve's waist. Steve leg was slotted between both of Matt's. He brushed Matt's hair from his forehead, trailed his fingers along the curve of Matt’s cheekbone, delicately traced the soft lines of his mouth.

Matt was in disbelief.

Steve here in his bed, having stayed through the night, was too much like what Matt had been craving, and couldn't have. _I love you_ was on the tip of his tongue. Childish wonder had him paralyzed.

“Good morning,” Steve said softly - his morning voice, scratchy and familiar.

Matt could almost pretend that they were removed from everything, that they were lifted high above the whole mess of the past year, alone together - finally together - in a separate realm that no ugliness could touch. It was more than he deserved. Feeling brave, indulging in the fantasy, he slowly smoothed his hand up and down the length of Steve's side. “Good morning,” he replied, and then he winced, hangover kicking in.

Steve was tracing one of those twin scars on Matt’s chest through the fabric of his shirt. “I talked to Bucky yesterday,” he said.

Matt was dragged out of the moment. He gently disentangled himself from Steve and tossed back the covers.

Standing didn't feel that great. His stomach seemed to flip and his head started spinning. He made a careful, woozy beeline to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of tap water, and downed it in one chug. He was pouring himself another when Steve came out of the bedroom.

“Coffee?” Matt offered, going about the business of making it so that he could put his back to him.

Steve stopped and stood in the living room. “How do we come back from this?” he said.

The bag of coffee beans slipped out of Matt’s hands, spilling over the counter. He didn’t deserve Steve. He couldn’t believe it. Why would Steve still want him? His voice was strained when he replied, “I don't know if we can.”

“I want to try.” Steve’s words had that Captain America edge to them - determined, unyielding. He sounded far less sure when he added, “Do you?”

Love and despair made Matt weak in the knees. “Yes. I do. But, Steve...” He wasn’t sure how to say it: you can do so much better; I’ve hurt you, and I’ll never forgive myself for it; there’s no _coming back_ , not from this.

Steve came into the kitchen and stood beside him. Matt had his hands braced on the counter, his head turned down.

“You’re the only one I wanna be with,” Steve said; Matt could’ve wept. “I’m not saying we start from scratch; there’s a lot of stuff we’ve gotta talk about. But I’m willing to give it another shot, if you are.”

It was everything Matt could’ve hoped for. And yet...

“You don’t wanna be with me, Steve,” he insisted. “All we did was fight and... and _fight_. All the time.”

“Bruce knows a guy,” Steve said, sounding nervous now. “Specializes in couples therapy? Is that maybe... something you would consider?”

Matt huffed. “That’s what Foggy suggested.”

“Could be worth a try.” Steve reached out, tentative, and put his hand over Matt’s. “I’ve missed you,” he said.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Matt turned to face him then, and Steve stepped in close. He took Matt’s face in his hands and kissed his forehead, his cheek. Matt took him by the waist. “I’m so sorry, Steve,” he sighed into Steve’s mouth.

“I forgive you.”

Matt kissed him because he could. Because he loved him. He’d never imagined he would actually get a second chance, and there was no way in hell he was going to blow it.

***

_Steve was fidgeting with the sleeve of his tuxedo, bored and annoyed and immensely uncomfortable. He'd been all but forced to make an appearance at the gala, something about “solidarity” and “responsibilities”. Mostly, he knew, it was a PR stunt to attract donors and supporters in the wake of the Incident, an attempt to humanize the Avengers._

_Tony had gone up to give a speech, thanking everyone for coming, announcing a grant in his name intended to help the rebuilding effort. And then, without any warning or prior notice, he’d called Steve to the podium._

_Steve had glared at him as he walked slowly up onto the stage._

_"Thank you, everyone, for coming," he'd began, adding icily, "And thank you, Tony, for putting this whole thing together."_

_He spoke very frankly about the Incident, about how sorry they all were, how they were doing everything they could to ensure that something like that would never happen again. He spoke about his own experiences - coming back into the world after decades on ice, readjusting, rejoining the fight for justice, for the safety of the country he had sworn to protect. "I am proud to be an Avenger," he concluded. "And I hope that someday, we can make you all proud of us as well."_

_Applause had echoed throughout the hall as he stepped down again, passing Tony._

_"Great speech, Cap," Stark said over the noise, clapping him on the arm._

_"You and me are gonna talk."_

_He made his way over to the bar while Tony started speaking again. He’d just ordered a drink when someone said from behind him, “Steve Rogers?”_

_Candace Howard - a friend of Pepper’s. And on her arm, the living embodiment of Tall, Dark, and Handsome._

_“How are you, Candace?” Steve said politely, smiling and accepting her hug._

_“Well, well! And yourself?”_

_“Can’t complain.”_

_“Steve, this is my friend, Matthew Murdock. Matt just opened his own law firm. Matt, this is Steve Rogers - Captain America. You may have heard of him before.”_

_The first thing Steve noticed was his mouth, sensuous and distracting as it was. Then he saw the glasses, and the cane. And then the lean, fit cut of Matt’s body underneath that tuxedo._

_“Hi,” he finally said, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth._

_He really needed to get out more._

_Matt held out his hand a bit too far to the right. Steve adjusted accordingly._

_“Pleasure to meet you, Captain Rogers,” he said. Even his voice was appealing._

_“Just Steve is fine.”_

_“Oh, there’s Stark!” Candace exclaimed. “Excuse me a moment, would you, dears? Tony!”_

_She left them alone together. Matt reached out for the edge of the bar and leaned up against it. "_ _Great speech,” he said._

_Steve huffed, fury moving through him again. “A heads up would've been nice,” he muttered, more to himself than to Matt._

_“You handled it well. I'm sure you've had a lot of practice having to think on your feet.”_

_Steve turned to look at him again and couldn’t make himself look away. Matt was effortlessly attractive. His ease, his grace, that disarming smile. It had been a long, long time since Steve had found himself so completely captivated by another person - and so quickly, too._

_Matt turned around to face Steve fully, giving him the wide cut of his shoulders, full view of that tapering waist that seemed to guide the eyes downward. “See something you like?” he said, a new sort of smile slowly shaping that shapely mouth._

_“Oh. Uh.” Steve chuckled nervously. For a moment, he thought Matt was calling him out for staring so openly, so rudely. But the tilt of that stubbled chin, the private smile, suggested otherwise._

_To say his flirting was out of practice was an understatement; even so, Steve could still recognize this turn of events for what it was. A little jolt of excitement surged through him._

_“You’re a lawyer?” he said._

_Matt chuckled. “I’d need clients for that.”_

_Steve smiled._

_“What’s it like?” Matt asked him. “Being a superhero?”_

_Steve had his prepared answer, the one he gave all the time. “Lonely,” he answered instead._

_“I can imagine." An understanding seemed to pass between them. That handsome face darkened, and then lit up almost mischievously. “You ever find the time to go out with anyone?” Matt asked._

_Steve fumbled for an answer. Was he being asked on a date? It sounded like it. Steve wasn’t really sure. He opened his mouth to respond, and then Candace was sweeping in behind them. “There you are!” she exclaimed, going over to Matt. “I’m so sorry! Are you ready, darling? I did promise I wouldn’t keep you out all night.”_

_“I am,” Matt said warmly, accepting her arm. He nodded to Steve, smiled wide. “Captain.”_

_“Good to see you again, Steve,” Candace said._

_Steve watched them turn and walk away, and gathered up his resolve. “Can I have your number?” he blurted, adding lamely, “Might need a lawyer someday.”_

_Candace grinned at him. “I’ll just be right over there,” she said to Matt, shooting Steve a cheesy wink before stepping aside._

_“Ready?” Matt said._

_Steve took out his cell phone. “Yes.”_

_Matt rattled off his phone number while Steve entered it into his contacts. When he looked up at Matt again, he seemed to be staring at Steve from behind his glasses, quietly focused, intent._

_“I’ll, um. I’ll call you.”_

_Matt smirked at him. “I won’t hold my breath.” He walked forward, coming close to Steve, and took him gently by the arm. He leaned forward and kissed Steve on the cheek. “Have a good night, Steve,” he said._

_Steve watched him go, blushing furiously._

***

**EPILOGUE**

“You almost ready?” Steve hollered. “Matt? We're already late.”

“I'm ready!” Matt snatched a pair of Steve's cufflinks off the nightstand. He went quickly out of their bedroom and into the hallway. Steve stood at the foot of the stairs.

“Wow,” Steve breathed. “You look... Wow.”

Matt smiled. “I'll take your word for it. Help me with these?” He came down to Steve and into their foyer and handed him the cufflinks.

“Are these yours or mine?” Steve asked.

“FLOTUS sent these to you.”

“Oh. Really?”

“You never wear them.”

Steve finished his work. “They suit you better anyway,” he said, adjusting Matt's sleeve. "There."

“Thank you, my love.”

“We won't stay long,” Steve promised.

“I don't mind,” Matt said. “Besides...” He smoothed his hands down Steve's chest. “I love standing there while you get hit on left and right. You're always so polite to everyone.”

Steve sighed. “I'm glad one of us enjoys it.”

“It's very entertaining.”

“It's disrespectful. Especially when I'm clearly _with_ someone.”

“My fiancé,” Matt said warmly, draping his arms over Steve's shoulders. “Ever the gentleman.”

Steve took him by the waist, welcoming Matt’s kiss with a soft little sound. “We gotta go,” he said reluctantly. “The car’s outside.” He took a few steps back, again looking Matt over. “You look amazing.”

“If you're trying to get into my pants, it's working.”

“‘Try’? I don't have to try.”

“Oh, is that so?” He followed Steve out onto the steps of their brownstone.

Summer in Brooklyn was Matt’s favorite time of the year. The evening was warm and humid. A group of young women was passing on the sidewalk across the street. One of them stopped and turned, noticing Matt and Steve. She pulled out her phone and took a picture, gasping to her friends.

One of them scoffed at her. “Nobody cares about Captain America,” she said. “Now come on - _Tony Stark_ is supposed to be at this club tonight!”

Matt grinned. Steve opened the door for him and he slid into the backseat of their Uber. Steve climbed in behind him and Matt held him by the hand, tangling his fingers into Steve's.

“Steven Grant Rogers, I cannot wait to be married to you.”

“You're gonna have to,” Steve replied. “We still haven't picked a date.”

“Does it have to be a big thing? Can't we just go down to the courthouse?”

Steve was quiet for a moment. They hadn't talked about anything Holy Matrimony related since the proposal. They hadn't exactly had the _time_.

“I thought you would've wanted to get married in a church.”

“I do,” Matt said. “But when is that gonna happen? You're leaving the country in a month. I'm back and forth in D.C. At this rate, the engagement is gonna go on longer than the marriage.”

“How about tomorrow?”

Matt paused. “Tomorrow?”

“You're right - it's kinda tricky trying to set a date when we don't even know if we're gonna be in the same time zone.”

“I can do tomorrow,” Matt said, smiling wide. “Tomorrow works for me. What are you thinking - just you and me and the Justice of the Peace? Can I invite Foggy?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, and Claire? And Karen? Fuck, I've gotta call them. Which courthouse? Babe, this is officially _the night before the wedding._ Should we take separate cars back? Isn't it bad luck if you see me? Or is that a two-way thing? I can't exactly see you.”

“I promise you, dudes,” their driver said solemnly, pulling up to the curb. “I will take this to my grave.”

They got out in front of a ritzy townhouse and went together inside, security stepping aside to admit them. Past the empty foyer, a full on party was raging. They stayed close together as they moved through the crowd.

"Hey, handsome," someone said, trailing her hand over Steve's chest as they passed.

Matt let out a laugh. "Thirty seconds," he teased. "We've only been here for _thirty seconds_."

“Look who decided to make an appearance!” Sam Wilson said, getting in between them and throwing an arm around Steve. “So glad you could finally join us.”

“We had some stuff to take care of,” Steve lied. Matt hadn't expected him to mention the shower sex, which led to floor sex, which then in turn had led to more shower sex, but he was grateful that he didn't.

(It had been a long week.)

“We're getting you drunk tonight, Rogers,” Sam promised. “Thor brought a case of that Asgardian stuff. It's gonna happen.”

“Maybe I should go wish Natasha a happy birthday first.”

“She's over at the bar,” Sam said. “Drinking Clint under the table.”

Steve got out from under Sam’s arm and took Matt by the hand. “If you don't want me to...” he began.

“Go have fun. I'm gonna look for some water.”

“Whenever you're ready to go-”

“Steve. Go. Celebrate with your friends.”

Matt kissed him quick on the cheek and steered him back over to Sam. He could hear the welcoming whoops and hollers as they made their way over to the group at the bar.

Matt didn't drink at all anymore. The change was doing worlds of good for both him and his relationship.

He made his way through the crowd, recognizing most of the party-goers. Stark must have insisted on the whole thing, and funded it, too - Romanov would never have asked for something so flashy. There was a DJ on one raised platform, a dance floor. Two wide open French doors led out to a pool.

Several of the Avengers were at the bar, cheering Steve on as he downed shot after shot - Sam, Clint, Thor, Natasha. Tony had hijacked the DJ’s little platform; Queen started blaring over the speakers after a moment. Matt suddenly paused in his observations, his blood running cold.

Bucky was here.

And he was dancing with someone.

 _Dancing_ was too tame. From Matt’s perspective, it was more like foreplay.

They weren't the only ones, in all fairness. It was about that time of night, and Bucky made up one of several such handsy couples on the dance floor.

“I thought you said you can dance,” his partner teased. He had an accent. African. Matt knew that voice from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place it.

Bucky let out a breathy little laugh. “What's wrong with my dancing?” he panted.

The other man chuckled, and leant in to kiss him. “Well, you could’ve bought me dinner first.”

“Oh, I can do more than that,” Bucky promised lasciviously, kissing him over and over, pouring the words into his mouth. “T’Challa,” he sighed. His heart rate was elevated.

“Get a room, Your Highness!” somebody hollered - Clint, of course, from the other side of the room.

“Are you ready to go?” Prince T’Challa - for, improbable as it was, it had to be him - whispered into Bucky’s ear.

“Lemme say goodbye to Nat.”

“I'll have the car brought around.”

Bucky kissed him again. He smacked the prince’s ass as T’Challa turned and walked away.

Matt stepped out of view as Bucky made his way across the room. It was then - of course - that he bumped into Foggy.

“You made it!” Foggy hollered, drunk and affectionate. He threw his arms around Matt and kissed him loud on the cheek. Matt laughed and hugged him back, anxieties momentarily forgotten.

Their road to reconciliation had been long and bumpy, filled with hard conversations and stretches of distance and silence. Matt finally had his best friend back, and he was beyond grateful for it.

“Too much of a good thing, Nelson?” he teased.

“Who, me? Naaah.” Foggy hiccuped. “Where's Steve? You guys come together?”

“At the bar, with the birthday girl.”

“Don’t call her that to her face.”

“Actually, speaking of Steve...” Matt took a deep breath. Talking about this with someone else meant it was actually happening. “I'm getting married tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!”

“At the courthouse, yeah. Can you make it?”

“Can I make it - of fucking course I can make it! Matt, you're getting married!” Foggy hugged him again. His phone buzzed in his pocket. “Ah, shit. My ride’s here. Matt! You're getting married!”

Matt smiled. “Come on, I'll walk you out.”

He walked with Foggy into the foyer and out onto the steps. To his surprise and delight, it was Karen waiting outside. “Hey, Matt!” she greeted, rolling down the passenger side window.

Foggy wrapped his arm around him. “He’s getting married! Tomorrow!”

“What?! Since when?!”

“Not even an hour ago,” Matt assured her. “You’re invited, of course.”

“Jeez, Matt, talk about last minute.”

He opened the back door for Foggy and helped him inside.

“I love you, man,” Foggy said, squeezing Matt’s hand.

“I love you, too. Get home safe.”

Karen blew him a kiss. “Send me details. We’ll see you tomorrow!”

He stood on the curb until the car pulled away, and then slowly made his way back into the party, full of warmth. The smile dropped off his face, though, when he came back into the foyer. Bucky was sitting on a bench, absorbed in his cell phone, chuckling to himself. He looked up at Matt and the noise died in his throat.

“Hi,” Matt croaked.

“Hey.”

He hadn't been alone with Bucky in a long time, even though Bucky had come over to his home on several occasions to spend time with Steve; the two of them seemed to have reconciled. Steve talked about him like they were close again.

One night Matt had come back late and Bucky was asleep on his couch; the next morning he was gone, and Matt had locked himself in the laundry room and breathed deep into the blanket Bucky had slept on, as though he could've extracted the man from what was left of his scent - that particular dark, smoky smell that belonged to no one else.

 _I think about you a lot_ , Matt wanted to say, echoing what Bucky had confessed to him that very first night at the coffee shop, ages ago. “The prince of Wakanda?” he said instead.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Yup.”

“How long?”

“Couple months.”

“Months. Wow. He seems... regal.”

Bucky laughed then, a short little sound. “Uh. Yeah. He is.”

“I'm happy for you,” Matt lied. It seemed like the right thing to say. “So. Um. I don't know if Steve's told you, but-”

“Tomorrow, yeah. I'll be there. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

He wasn't sure what to do next. He knew what he _wanted_ to do.

Moving almost on automatic, Matt went over to where he was sitting and stood before him. He put his hands in Bucky’s hair and tried not to be disappointed. He’d come to love its length, and the fullness of it. He’d loved to trail his fingers through it. It was still long at the top, but the sides and the back were buzzed down to velvet. _This is nice, too_ , Matt decided, dropping his nose into the fullness at the crown of Bucky’s head, delighting in the softness there and breathing in the smell of him. Bucky turned his face upwards, hands landing lightly on Matt’s waist.

He kissed Bucky’s eyelids and wondered when those eyes had become so dear to him. Knowing that they should stop, that it would've been best to step away, Matt took Bucky’s face in his hands, brushed his lips over Bucky’s in not quite a kiss.

“You're getting married tomorrow,” Bucky said. His hands tightened on Matt’s waist, moved down to his hips.

“I am.”

He kissed Bucky’s top lip, his bottom lip, met the tentative touch of Bucky’s tongue with his own. “God, Matt...” Bucky sighed, gripping him hard and then kissing him for real. Matt wished it would go on forever.

People were coming down the hall and Matt stepped back from him quick, but not before Bucky could lay his hand over Matt’s and turn his mouth into the palm of it. His face moved to follow that trailing hand as Matt steadily walked away, going back into the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


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